The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight
by sw8Rukia
Summary: Four minutes changes everything. Kuchiki Rukia 17 misses her flight at the airport, is late to her father's second wedding in Tokyo with never-met stepmother. Rukia meets the perfect boy. Ichigo, sits in her row. A long night on the plane passes in a blink, but the two lose track in arrival chaos. Can fate bring them together again? IchiRuki
1. Chapter 1

There are so many ways it could have all turned out differently. Imagine if she hadnt forgotten the book. She wouldnt have had to run back into the house while mom waited outside with the car running, the engine setting loose a cloud of exhaust in the late-day heat.

Or before that , even imagine if she hadnt waited to try on her dress,so that she might have noticed earlier that the straps is too long and mom wouldnt have had to haul out her old sewing kit, turning the kitchen counter into an operating tanle as she attempted to save the poor lifeless swath of purple silk at the very last minute.

Or later if she hadnt given herself a paper cut while printing out her ticket if she hadnt lost her phone charger, if there hadnt been traffic on the expressway to the airport. If they hadnt missed the exit or if she hadnt fumbled the quarters for the toll, the coins rolling beneath the seat while the people in the cars behind them leaned hard on their horns.

If the wheel of her suitcase hadnt been off-kilter. If she'd run just a bit faster to the gate. Though maybe it wouldnt have mattered anyway. Perhaps the day's collection of delays is beside the point and if it hadnt been one of those things, it would have been something else.

The weather over the atlantic, rain in Japan, storms clouds that hovered just an hour too long before getting on with their day. Rukia isnt a big believer in things like fate or destiny but then, she's never been a big believer in the puntuality of the airline industry either.

Who ever heard of a plane leaving on time anyhow?

Sh's never missed a flight before in her life. Not once but when she finally reaches the gate this evening, its to find the attendants sealing the door and shutting down the computers. The clock above them says 6:48 and just beyond the window the plane sits like a hulking metal fortress, its clear from the looks on the faces of those around her that nobody else is getting on that thing.

She's four minutes late, which doesnt seem like all that much when you think about it, it's a commercial break, the period between classes, the time it takes to cook a microwave meal. Four minutes is nothing. Every single day, in every single airport there are people who make their flights at the very last moment , breathing hard as they stow their bags and then slumping into their seats with a sigh of relief as the plane launches itself skyward.

But not Kuchiki Rukia, who lets her back pack slip from her hand as she stands at the window, watching the plane break away from the accordion like ramp, its wings rotating as it heads toward the runway without her.

Across the ocean, her father is making one last toast and the white-gloved hotel staff is polishing the silverware for tomorrow night's celebration.

Behind her , the boy with a ticket for seat 18C on the next flight to Tokyo is eating a powdered doughnut, oblivious to the dusting of white on his blue shirt.

Rukia closes her eyes, just for a moment and when she opens them again, the plane is gone.

Who could have guessed that four minutes could change everything?..

 **A/N:**

 **Just finish reading this story and its soo good! I love it .. it cute and simple..**

 **I'll write it here but wont change a thing except for the characters, because I need an Ichiruki inspiration for 'One last Chance' and this story is just very Ichiruki like..**

 **so guys if you still havent read it.. try it, this is worth your money, I just love this story..**

 **'The statistical probability of love at first sight' wrote by the amazing Jennifer E. Smith.**


	2. Chapter 2

Airports are torture chambers if you're claustrophobic. It's not just the looming threat of the ride ahead being stuffed into seats like sardines and then catapulted through the air in a narrow metal tube but also the terminals themselves, the press of people, the blur and spin of the place.

This is just the one of the many things that Rukia's trying not to think about as she stands helplessly before the ticket counter. The light outside was starting to disappear and she can feel something unraveling, like the slow release of air from a ballon. Part of it is the impending flight and part of it is the airport itself but mostly, it's the realization that she'll now be late for the wedding she didnt even want to go to in the first place and something about this miserable twist of fate makes her feel like crying.

It had been her own idea to skip the rehearsal dinner and arrive in Tokyo the morning of the wedding instead. Rukia hasn't seen her father in more than a year , and she wasnt sure she can sit in a room with all the important people in his life. If it had been up to her, she wouldn't even be going to the wedding itself but her mom kept reminding her.

"He's still your Dad..If you dont go, you'll regret it later. I know it's hard to imagine when you're seventeen but trust me. One day you will.."

Rukia isnt so sure.

The flight attendant is now working the keyboard of her computer with a kind of ferocious intensity, punching at the keys and snapping her gum. "You're in luck, I can get you on the ten twenty-four. Seat eighteen A. By the window.."

Rukia's almost afraid to ask but she did anyway. " What time does it get in?"

"Nine fifty four, Tomorrow morning.."

Rukia pictures the delicate calligraphy on the thick ivory wedding invitation,which has been sitting on her desk for months now. The ceremony will begin tomorrow at noon, which means that if everything goes according to schedule , she's still have a chance for making it on time.

"Boarding will start from this gate at nine forty-five.." the attendant says, handling over the papers. " have a good flight..''

She props her backpack on top of her carry on suitcase and digs for her phone then scrolls through the contacts for her Dad's number. Her heart quickens now as it begins to ring, though he calls often ,she's probably dialed him only a handful of times. He finally picks up.

"Rukia?"

"I missed my flight.." she says.

"What?"

She sighs and repeats herself. " I missed my flight.."

"Well.." Dad says. " did you get another one?"

"Yeah, but it doesnt get in till ten.."

"Tomorrow?"

"No, tonight." she says. " I'll be traveling by comet.."

Dad ignores this.'' That's too late, its too close to the ceremony. I wont be able to pick you up. he says, and theres a muffled sound as he covers the phone to whisper to his fiancee.

"I'm seventeen," Rukia reminds him. "I'm pretty sure I can handle getting a taxi to the church.."

"I dont know.." Her dad says. It's your first time in Tokyo..." He trails off and then clears his throat. "Do you think your mom would be okay with it?.."

"She's not here.." she says. "I guess she caught the first wedding."

Theres silence on the other end of the phone.

"It's fine dad. I'll meet you at the church tomorrow, hopefully I wont be too late.."

"Okay.." he says softly. "I cant wait to see you.."

"Yeah," she says, unable to bring herself to say it back to him. "See you tomorrow.."

For a long moment , she just stands there like that , the phone still held tightly in her hand , trying not to think about all that awaits her on the other side of the ocean. When she spots an empty seat , she hurries in that direction and wedges herself into a seat between and older man and a middle-aged woman.

She readjusts the backpack on her lap, realizing a moment too late that she didnt zip it up all the way and a few of her things tumble to the floor. Rukia reaches for the lip gloss first then the magazine but when she goes to pick up the heavy book that her father gave her, the boy across the aisle reaches it first.

He glances briefly at the cover before handling it back and Rukia catches a flicker of recognition in his eyes. She smiles then turns towards the window, just in case he might bee thinking about striking up a conversation.

Because Rukia doesnt feel like talking now, not even to someone as handsome as he is. But she can feel it, he's staring at her and its sending little shivers all over her body. She starts fidgeting and hugging her backpack. _"Three_ _more hours.."_

Rukia cant take it anymore, deciding to find another seat, she begins to gather her things ,tucking her book under her arm and swinging her backpack up onto her shoulder. When she gets to the end of the waiting area, her book slips from under her arm. When she stops to pick it up again her sweatshirt flutters to the floor as well.

 _"You've got to be kidding_ m _e.."_ She thinks. blowing the strand of hair from her face. But the time she gathers everything and reaches for her suitcase again, it's somehow no longer there. Spinning around she's stunned to see the boy standing beside her, his own bag slung over his shoulder and Rukia looks at him, really looks at him for the first time. His orange hair is a bit long and there are crumbs down the front of his shirt, but there's something striking about him.

Her heart dips unexpectedly when he looks at her. Her eyes travel down to where he's gripping the handle of her suitcase.

"What are you doing?.." she asks, blinking at him.

"You looked like you might need some help." he says and smiles.

She raises her eyebrows and he straightens up a bit. It occurs to her that perhaps he's planning to steal her bag, but if that's the case, it's not very well planned, pretty much the only things in there are a pair of shoes and a dress. And she would be more happy to lose those.

She stands there for a long moment, the crowds are surging around them and her back pack is heavy on her shoulders and the boy's eyes are searching hers with something like loneliness, like the last thing he wants is to be left behind right now. And that's something Rukia can understand too and so after a moment, she nods in agreement and he tips the suitcase forward and they begin to walk.

 **A/N:**

 **This story is kind of cliche and predictable but it's fun and cute and entertaining.. and it happens in Twenty four hour so..its fast but its just sweet..**

 **but that's my opinion..heh.**


	3. Chapter 3

An announcement comes over the loudspeaker about a passenger missing from his plane and Rukia cant stop the thought from tiptoeing into her head. What if she were to skip out of her own flight? But as if he can read her mind, the boy in front of her glancess back to make sur she's still there, and she realizes she's grateful to have some company on this of all days, unexpected as it may be.

It was just last year when it happened for the first time , this dizzying worry, a heart thudding, stomach-churning exercise in panic. As Rukia rode the elevator down to the lobby with her Dad, there was a sharp jolt and then they came to an abrupt stop. They were the only two people in there and they exchanged a blank look before Dad shrugged and reached for the emergency call button.

"Stupid elevator.."

She push the buttons randomly, lighting up one after another as a rising sense of panic welled up inside of her.

"I dont think that's gonna do anything ..." Dad began to say but he stopped when he seemed to notice something was wrong. "Are you okay?"

Rukia tugged her jacket then unzipped it. "No." she said, her heart thumping wildly. "Yes, I dont know I want to get out of here."

"They'll be here soon, there's nothing we can do till-

"No. Now dad.." she said, feeling slghtly frantic.

His eyes skipped around the tiny elevator. "Are you having a panic attack? has this happened before? Does your mom-

She shook her head, she wasnt sure what's happening ,all she knew was that she needed to get out of there _right now._

" Hey.." Dad said, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to meet his eyes. "They'll be here in a minute, okay? Just look at me. Dont think about where we are.."

"Okay.." she muttered gritting her teeth.

"Okay." he said. "Think about someplace else , somewhere with open spaces."

She tried to still her mind to bring some soothing memory, but her brain refused to cooperate. Her face was prickly with heat and it was hard to focus.

"Pretend you're at the beach.." he said. " Or the sky! imagine the sky, okay? Think about how big it is, how you can't see the end of it.."

Rukia closed her eyes shut and forced herself to picture it, the endless blue sky , the deepness of it, so big it was impossible to know where it ended. She felt her heart begin to slow and her breathing grow even , and she unclenched her sweaty fist. When she opened her eyes again, Dad's face was level with hers , his eyes wide with worry. They stared at each other for what felt like forever and Rukia realized it was the first she'd allowed herself to look him in the eyes since the divorced.

-x-

Now, in the middle of the crowded terminal, Rukia pulls her eyes away from the windows. Her stomach tightens again, the only time it doesnt help to imagine the sky is when you're thirty thousand feet in the air with nowhere to go but down.

She turns to see that the boy is waiting for her, his hand still wrapped around the handle of her suitcase. He smiles when she catches up. She was concentrating so hard on following his blue shirt that when he stops, she very nearly runs into him. He's taller than she is and he has to duck his head to speak to her.

"I didnt even asked where you're going."

"Tokyo.." she says, and he laughs.

"No, I meant now, where are you going now.."

"Oh.." she says. " I dont know actually, to get dinner maybe? I just didnt want to sit there forever."

This is not entirely true, but she cant tell him that she was trying to find another seat just to avoid his burning gaze.

"Okay.." he says, looking down at her, his orange hair falling across his forehead. "Where to, then?"

Rukia stands on her tiptoes, turning in a small circle to get a sense of the restaurant choices.

"You're too short.."

Not looking at him she replies. " No.. my height is just, cute.."

She could hear him laughs softly, she isnt sure if he'll be joining her but she can practically feel him waiting beside her and her whole body is tense as she tries to think of the option that's the least likely to leave her food all over her face, just in case he decides to come along.

After what seems forever, she points to a deli just a few gates down and he heads off in that direction, her red suitcase in tow. When they get there, he readjusts the bag on his shoulder and squints up at the menu.

"This is a good idea." he says. " I never liked the food in planes."

"Where are you headed?" Rukia asks as they joined the line.

"Tokyo as well."

"Really? What seat?.."

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and produces his ticket, bent in half and ripped at one corner. "18-C."

"I'm 18-A .." she tells him and he smiles.

"Just missed."

She nods at his bag which is still resting on his shoulder, his finger hooked around the hanger. " You're going over for a wedding too?"

He hesitates then jerks his chin up in the first half of a nod.

"So am I.." she says. "Wouldnt it be weird if it was the same one?"

"Not likely.." he says, giving her an odd look and she immediately feels silly, of course it's not the same one. She hopes he doesn't think she's under the impression that Tokyo is some kind of town when everyone knows everyone else.

Rukia's never been out of Karakura before but she knows enough to know that Tokyo is a huge city, it is in her limited experience, a big enough place to lose someone entirely.

The boy looks as if he's about to say something more then turns and gestures toward the menu instead. "Do you know what you'd like?"

 _"Do i know what I'd like?.."_ She thinks.

She'd like to go home.

She'd like to lie on her bed and hug her bunny.

She'd like to be going anywhere but her father's wedding.

She'd like to be anywhere but this airport.

She'd like to know his name.

After a moment, she looks up at him.

"Not yet.." she says. "I'm still deciding."

A minute later Rukia ordered her turkey sandwich without mayo, she can see the white goo oozing onto the crust as she carries her food to an empty table and her stomach lurches at the sight. She's debating whether it would be better to suffer through eating it or risk looking like an idiot as she scrapes it off and eventually settles for looking like an idiot, ignoring the boy's raised eyebrows as she dissects her dinner with all the care of a biology experiment. She wrinkles her nose as she sets aside the lettuce and tomato.

"That's some nice work there.." he says around a mouthful of roast beef, and she nods.

"I have fear of mayo, so I've gotten pretty good at this over the years."

"You have fear of mayo?"

She nods again. "It's in my top three or four."

"What are others?" he asks with a grin. "I mean, what could possibly be worse than mayonnaise?"

"Dentist, spiders, Ovens."

"Ovens? so I take it you're not much of a cook."

"And small spaces.." she says, a bit more quietly.

He tilts his head to one side." So what do you do on the plane?.."

Rukia shrugs. " Grit my teeth and hope for the best."

"Not a bad tactic.." he says with a laugh. "Does it work?"

She doesnt answer, stuck by a small flash of alarm.

"Well, claustrophobia is nothing compared to mayo-phobia and look how well you're conquering that." He nods at the plastic knife in his hand, which is caked with mayonnaise and bread crumbs. Rukia smiles at him gratefully.

As they eat their eyes drift to the television set in the corner of the cafe , where the we updates are flashed over and over again. She tries to focus on her dinner but she cant help sneaking a sideways glance at him every now and then.

Rukia twists her napkin underneath the table and finally leans across the table and asks his name.

"Right.." he says, blinking at her. "I guess that part does come first.. I'm Ichigo..And you"

"Rukia.."

"Rukia," he repeats with a nod. "That's pretty."

She knows he's only talking about her name but she's still flattered, maybe it's because the way he's looking at her with such interest right now, but there's something about him that makes her heart quicken in the way it does when she's surprised. She's spent so much energy dreading this trip that she hadn't been prepared for the possibility that something good might come out of it or something unexpected.

 **A/N:**

 **Yeah.. cutted off the boring part and leaves the i** m **portant part..**

 **and change a few lines..:)Heh.**


	4. Chapter 4

"You dont want your pickle?" he asks, leaning forward and Rukia shakes her head and pushes her plate across the table to him. He eats it in two bites, then sits back again. "Ever been to Tokyo before?"

"Never," she says, a bit too forcefully.

He laughs. "It's not that bad."

"No, I'm sure it's not," she says, biting her lip. "Do you live there?"

"I grew up there."

"So where do you live now?"

"Karakura, obviously. I go to karakura University.."

Rukia's unable to hide her surprise. "You do?"

"What?"

"It's just so close."

"To what?"

She hadn't meant to say that, and now she feels her cheeks go warm.

"Really" he smiles. "I just finished up my first year there."

"So how come you're not home for the summer?"

"I like it over here," he says with a shrug. "Plus I won a summer research grant, so I'm sort of required to stick around."

"What kind of research?"

"I'm studying the fermentation process of mayonnaise."

"You are not," she says, laughing, and Ichigo frowns.

"I am," he says. "It's very important work. Did you know that twenty-four percent of all mayonnaise is actually laced with vanilla ice cream?"

"That does sound important," she says. "But what are you really studying?"

A man bumps hard into the back of Rukia''s chair as he walks past, then moves on without apologizing, and Ichigo grins. "Patterns of congestion in airports."

"You're ridiculous," Rukia says, shaking her head. She looks off toward the busy corridor. "But if you could do something about these crowds, I wouldn't mind it. I hate airports."

"Really?" Ichigo says. "I love them."

She's convinced, for a moment, that he's still teasing her, but then realizes he's serious.

"I like how you're neither here nor there. And how there's nowhere else you're meant to be while waiting. You're just sort of… suspended."

"That's fine, I guess," she says, playing with the tab on her soda can, "if it weren't for the crowds."

He glances over his shoulder. "They're not always as bad as this."

"They are if you're me." She looks over at the screens displaying arrivals and departures, many of the green letters blinking to indicate delays or cancellations.

"We've still got some time," Ichigo says, and she sighs.

"I know, but I missed my flight earlier, so this sort of feels like a stay of execution."

"You were supposed to be on the last one?"

She nods.

"What time's the wedding?"

"Noon," she says, and he makes a face.

"That'll be tough to make."

"So I've heard," she says. "What time's yours?"

He lowers his eyes. "I'm meant to be at the church at two."

"So you'll be fine."

"Yeah," he says. "I suppose Iwill."

They sit in silence, each looking at the table, until the muffled sound of a phone ringing comes from Ichigo's pocket. He fishes it out, staring at it with a look of great intensity while it carries on, until at last he seems to come to a decision and stands abruptly.

"I should really take this," he tells her, sidestepping away from the table. "Sorry."

She waves a hand. "It's okay," she says. "Go." She watches as he walks away, picking a path across the crowded concourse, the phone at his ear. His head is ducked, and there's something hunched about him, the curve of his shoulders, the bend of his neck, that makes him seem different now, she wonders who might be on the other end of the call. It occurs to her that it could very well be a girlfriend, some beautiful and brilliant student who wears trendy glasses and would never be so disorganized as to miss a flight by four minutes.

Rukia's surprised by how quickly she pushes the thought away. She glances down at her own phone, realizing she should probably call her mother and let her know

about the change in flights. But her stomach flutters at the thought of how they parted earlier, the ride to the airport in silence and then her unforgiving speech in the departures lane.

Now, sitting in the little airport café, her thumb hovers over the button on her phone. She takes a deep breath before pressing it, her heart pounding in the quiet spaces between rings.

The words she spoke earlier are still echoing in her mind; Rukia isn't superstitious by nature, but that she so thoughtlessly invoked the possibility of a plane crash right before her flight is nearly enough to make her sick. She thinks about the plane she was supposed to take, already well on its way across the ocean by now, and she feels a sharp sting of regret, hoping that she didn't somehow mess with the mysterious workings of timing and chance.

A part of her is relieved when she gets her mom's voice mail. As she starts to leave a message

about the change in plans, she sees Ichigo's approaching again. For a moment she thinks she

recognizes something in the look on his face, the same tortured worry she can feel in herself right now, but when he spots her something shifts, and he's back again, looking unruffled and almost cheerful an easy smile lighting his eyes.

Rukia has trailed off in the middle of her message, and Ichigo points to her phone as he grabs his bag, then jerks his thumb in the direction of the gate. She opens her mouth to tell him she'll only be a minute, but he's already off, and so she finishes the message hastily.

"So I'll call when I get there tomorrow," she says into the phone, her voice wavering slightly. "And Mom? I'm sorry about before, okay? I didn't mean it."

Afterward, when she heads back to the gate, she scans the area for Ichigo's blue shirt, but he's nowhere in sight. Rather than wait for him amid the crowd of restless travelers, she circles back to use the bathroom, then pokes around the gift shops and bookstores and newspaper stands, wandering the terminal until it's finally time to board.

As she falls into line, Rukia realizes she's almost too tired to even be anxious at this point. It

feels like she's been here for days now, and there's so much more ahead of her to worry about, too: the closeness of the cabin, the panicky feeling that comes with no escape route. There's the wedding and the reception, meeting Dad and his fiancee for the first time in more than a year. But for now, she just wants to put on her headphones, close her eyes, and sleep.

When it's her turn to hand over her ticket, the flight attendant smiles from beneath his mustache. "Scared of flying?"

Rukia forces herself to unclench her hand, where she's been gripping the handle of her

suitcase with white knuckles. She smiles ruefully. "Scared of landing," she says, then step onto the plane anyway.

-x-

By the time Ichigo appears at the top of the aisle, Rukia is already sitting by the window with her seat belt fastened and her bag stowed safely in the overhead bin. She's spent the past seven minutes pretending she wasn't interested in his arrival, counting planes out the window and examining the pattern on the back of the seat in front of her. But really, she's just been waiting for him, and when he finally arrives at their row she finds herself blushing

for no good reason other than that he's quite suddenly looming over her with that tilted grin of his. There's a kind of unfamiliar electricity that goes through her at the nearness of him, and she can't help wondering if he feels it, too.

"Lost you in there," he says, and she manages a nod, happy to be found again.

He hefts his hanging bag up above before scooting into the middle seat beside her,awkwardly

arranging his too-long legs in front of him and situating the rest of himself between the armrest. She glances at him, her heart thudding at his sudden proximity, at the casual way he's positioned himself so close to her.

"I'll just stay for a minute," he says, leaning back. "Till somebody else comes."

She realizes that a part of her is already composing the story for the benefit of her friends: the one about how she met a handsome guy with on a plane and they spent the whole time

talking. But the other part of her, the more practical part, is worried about arriving in Tokyo tomorrow morning for her father's wedding without having slept. Because how could she possibly go to sleep with him beside her like this? His elbow is brushing against hers and their kneecaps are nearly touching. there's a dizzying smell to him, too, a wonderfully boyish mixture of deodorant and shampoo.

He pulls a few things from his pocket, thumbing through a pile of change until he eventually finds a lint-covered piece of wrapped candy, which he offers her first, then pops into his mouth.

"How old is that thing?" she asks, her nosewrinkled.

"Ancient. I'm pretty sure I dug it out of a sweet bowl the last time I was home."

"Let me guess," she says. "It was part of a study on the effects of sugar over time."

He grins. "Something like that."

"What are you really studying?"

"It's top secret," he tells her, his face utterly serious. "And you seem nice, so I don't want to have to kill you."

"Gee, thanks," she says. "Can you at least tell me your major? Or is that classified, too?"

"Probably psychology," he says. "Though I'm still sorting it out."

"Ah," Rukia says. "So that explains all the mind games."

Ichigo laughs. "You say mind games, I say research.."

"I guess I better watch what I say, then, if I'm being analyzed."

"That's true," he says. "I'm keeping an eye on you."

"And?"

He gives her a sideways smile. "Too soon to tell."

Behind him, an elderly woman pauses at their row, squinting down at her ticket. She's wearing a flowered dress and has white hair so delicate you can see right through to her scalp. Her hand trembles a bit as she points at the number posted above them.

"I think you're in my seat," she says, worrying the edges of her ticket with her thumb, and beside Rukia, Ichigo stands up so fast he hits his head on the air-conditioning panel.

"Sorry," he's saying as he attempts to maneuver out of her way, his cramped overtures doing little to fix things in such a tight space. "I was just there for a moment."

The woman looks at him carefully, then her gaze slides over to Rukia, and they can almost see the idea of it dawning on her, the corners of her watery eyes creasing.

"Oh," she says, bringing her hands together with a soft clap. "I didn't realize you were together." She drops her purse on the end seat. "You two stay put. I'll be just fine here."

Ichigo looks like he's trying not to laugh, but Rukia's busy worrying about the fact that he just lost his spot, because who wants to spend seven hours stuck in the middle seat? But as the woman lowers herself gingerly into the rough fabric of her seat, he

smiles back at Rukia reassuringly, and she can't help feeling a bit relieved. Because the truth is that now that he's here, she can't imagine it any otherway. Now that he's here, she worries that crossing an entire ocean with someone between them might be something like torture.

"So," the woman asks, digging through her purse and emerging with a pair of foam earplugs, "how did you two meet?"

They exchange a quick glance.

"Believe it or not," Ichigo says, "it was in an airport."

"How wonderful!" she exclaims, looking positively delighted. "And how did it happen?"

"Well," he begins, sitting up a bit taller, "I was being quite gallant, actually, and offered to help with her suitcase. And then we started talking, and one thing led to another…."

Rukia grins. "And he's been carrying my suitcase ever since."

"It's what any true gentleman would do," Ichigo says with exaggerated modesty.

"Especially the really gallant ones."

The old woman seems pleased by this, her face folding into a map of tiny wrinkles. "And here you both are."

He smiles. "Here we are."

Rukia's surprised by the force of the wish that wells up inside of her just then: She wishes that it were true, all of it. That it were more than just a story.

That it were their story.

But then he turns to face her again and the spell is broken. His eyes are practically shining with amusement as he checks to be sure she's still sharing in the joke. Hadley manages a small smile before he swivels back to the woman, who has

launched into a story about how she met her husband.

Things like this don't just happen, Rukia thinks.

Not really. Not to her.

"Enjoy the flight," she says, stuffing a yellow earplug into one ear, and then repeating the gesture on the other side.

"You, too," Rukia says, but the woman's head has already fallen to one side, and just like that, she begins to snore.

Beneath their feet, the plane vibrates as the engines rumble to life. One of the flight attendants reminds them over the speaker that there will be no smoking, and that everyone should stay seated until the captain has turned off the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign.

Rukia grabs the laminated safety instructions from the seat pocket in front of her. Beside her, Ichigo stifles a laugh, and she glances up again.

"What?"

"I've just never seen anyone actually read one of those things before."

"Well," she says, "then you're very lucky to be sitting next to me."

"Just in general?"

She grins. "Well, particularly in case of an emergency."

"Right," he says. "I feel incredibly safe. When I'm knocked unconscious by my tray table during some sort of emergency landing, I can't wait to see all four foot-nothing of you carry me out of here."

Rukia's face falls. "Don't even joke about it."

"Sorry," he says, inching closer. He places a hand on her knee, an act so unconscious that he

doesn't seem to realize what he's done until Rukia glances down in surprise at his palm, warm against her bare leg. He draws back abruptly, looking a bit stunned himself, then shakes his head. "The flight'll be fine. I didn't mean it."

"It's okay," she says quietly. "I'm not usually quite so superstitious."

Out the window, a few men in neon yellow vest are circling the enormous plane, and Hadley leans over to watch. The old woman on the aisle coughs in her sleep, and they both turn back around, but she's resting peacefully again, her eyelids fluttering.

"They're marriage for Fifty-two years," Ichigo says, letting out a low whistle. "That's impressive."

"I'm not sure I even believe in marriage," Rukia says, and he looks surprised.

"Aren't you on your way to a wedding?"

"Yeah," she says with a nod. "But that's what I mean."

He looks at her blankly.

"It shouldn't be this big fuss, where you drag everyone halfway across the world to witness your love. If you want to share your life together, fine. But it's between two people, and that should be enough. Why the big show? Why rub it in everyone's faces?"

Ichigo runs a hand along his jaw, obviously not quite sure what to think. "It sounds like it's weddings you don't believe in," he says finally. "Not marriage."

"I'm not such a big fan of either at the moment."

"I don't know," he says. "I think they're kind ofnice."

"They're not," she insists. "They're all for show. You shouldn't need to prove any anything if you really mean it. It should be a whole lot simpler than that. It should mean something."

"I think it does," Ichigo says quietly. "It's a promise."

"I guess so," she says, unable to keep the sigh out of her voice. "But not everyone keeps that

promise." She looks over toward the woman, still fast asleep. "Not everyone makes it fifty-two years, and if you do, it doesn't matter that you once stood in front of all those people and said that you would. The important part is that you had someone to stick by you all that time. Even when everything sucked."

He laughs. "Marriage: for when everything sucks."

"Seriously," Rukia insists. "How else do youknow that it means something? Unless someone's

there to hold your hand during the bad times?"

"So that's it?" Ichigo says. "No wedding, no

marriage, just someone there to hold your hand when things are rough?"

"That's it," she says with a nod.

He shakes his head in wonder. "Whose wedding is this? An ex-boyfriend of yours?"

Rukia can't help the laughter that escapes her.

"What?"

"My ex-boyfriend spends most of his time playing video games, and the rest delivering pizzas. It's just funny to imagine him as a groom."

"I thought you might be a bit young to be a woman scorned."

"I'm seventeen," she says indignantly, and he holds up his hands in surrender.

The plane begins to push back from the gate, and Ichigo leans closer to peer out the window.

There are lights stretched out as far as they can see, like reflections of the stars, making great

constellations of the runways, where dozens of planes sit waiting their turn. Rukia's hands are braided together in her lap, and she takes a deep breath.

"So," Ichigo says, sitting back again. "I guess we jumped right into the deep end, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that a discussion about the definition of true love is usually something you talk about after three months, not three hours."

"According to her," Rukia says, jutting her chin to Oliver's right, "three hours is more like three years."

"Yes, well, that's if you're in love."

"Right. So, not us."

"No," Ichigo agrees with a grin. "Not hour's an hour. And we're doing this all wrong."

"How do you figure?"

"I know your feelings on matrimony, but we haven't even covered the really important stuff yet, like your favorite color or your favorite food."

"Blue and Mexican."

He nods appraisingly. "That's respectable. For me, green and curry."

"Curry?" She makes a face. "Really?"

"Hey," he says. "No judging. What else?"

The lights in the cabin are dimmed for takeoff as the engine revs up below them, and Rukia closes

her eyes, just for a moment. "What else what?"

"Favorite animal?"

"Rabbits," she says, opening her eyes again.

Ichigo is looking at her with amusement.

"And you'rs?"

"The American eagle."

She laughs. "I don't believe you."

"Me?" he asks, bringing a hand to his heart. "Is it wrong to love an animal that also happens to be a symbol of freedom?"

"Now you're just making fun of me."

"Maybe a little," he says with a grin. "But is it working?"

"What, me getting closer to muzzling you?"

"No," he says quietly. "Me distracting you."

"From what?"

"Your claustrophobia."

She smiles at him gratefully. "A little," she says.

"Though it's not as bad until we get up in the air."

"How come?" he asks. "Plenty of wide open spaces up there."

"But no escape route."

"Ah," he says. "So you're looking for an escape route."

Rukia nods. "Always."

"Figures," he says, sighing dramatically. "I get that from girls a lot."

She lets out a short laugh, then closes her eyes again when the plane begins to pick up speed, barreling down the runway with a rush of noise. They're tipped back in their seats as momentum gives way to gravity, the plane tilting backward until —with a final bounce of the wheels—they're set aloft like a giant metal bird.

She wraps a hand around the armrest as they climb higher into the night sky, the lights below fading into pixelated grids. Her ears begin to pop as the pressure builds, and she presses her forehead against the window, dreading the moment when they'll push through the low-hanging bank of clouds and the ground will disappear beneath them, when they'll be surrounded by nothing but the vast and endless sky.

Out the window, the outlines of parking lots and housing developments are growing distant as housing developments are growing distant as everything starts to blend together. Rukia watches the world shift and blur into new shapes, the streetlamps with their yellow-orange glow, the long ribbons of highway. She sits up straighter, her forehead cool as she strains to keep sight of it all. What she fears isn't flying so much as being set adrift. But for now, they're still low enough to see the lit windows of the buildings below.

For now, Ichigo is beside her, keeping the clouds at bay.

 **A/N:**

 **BleachAddict12: Thanks, you're very nice thank you..well I'** m **trying to finish this as fast as I can so I can update** m **y other story.. I'** m **just writing this to inspire** m **yself.. and its working, really working..I was s** m **iling the whole ti** m **e I was writing it..:D**


	5. Chapter 5

They've been in the air only a few minutes when Ichigo seems to decide it's safe to speak to her again. At the sound of his voice near her ear, Rukia feels something inside of her loosening, and she unclenches her hands one finger at a time.

She turns to Ichigo. "So, has your dad come over to visit you much?" she asks, and he looks at her with slightly startled eyes. She stares back at him, equally surprised by her question. What she'd meant to say was your parents. Have your parents come over to visit much? The word dad had slipped out nearly unconcious.

Ichigo clears his throat and drops his hands to his lap, where he twists the extra fabric of his seatbelt into a tight bundle. "Just my mom, actually," he says. "She brought me out at the start of the year. Couldn't bear to send me off to school without making my bed first."

"That's cute," Rukia says, trying not to think of her own mother, of the fight they had earlier. "She sounds sweet."

She waits for him to say more, or perhaps to ask about her family, because it seems like the natural progression of conversation for two people with nowhere to go and hours to spare. But all he does is silently trace a finger over the letters stitchedinto the seat in front of them: FASTEN SEAT BELT WHILE SEATED.

Above them, one of the blackened television screens brightens, and there's an announcement about the in-flight movie. It's an animated film about Chappy the Rabbit, one of Rukia's favorite movie, and when Ichigo groans, she twists in her seat and eyes him critically.

"There's nothing wrong with Chappy," she tells him and he rolls his eyes.

"Its a talking Rabbit."

She grins. "and sings, too."

"Don't tell me," he says. "You've already seen it."

She holds up two fingers. "Twice."

"You do know that it's meant for five-year-olds, right?"

"Five- to eight-year-olds, thank you very much."

"And how old are you again?"

"Old enough to appreciate our fluffy-eared friend."

"You," he says, laughing in spite of himself, "are very strange.."

"I'll take that as a compliment..," She says, smiling.

A fly appears near her ear, and Rukia tries unsuccessfully to swipe it away. A moment later it's buzzing nearby again, making infuriating loops around their heads like a relentless figure skater.

"I wonder if he bought a ticket," Ichigo says.

"Probably just a stowaway."

Ichigo waves a hand to shoo the fly away. One of the flight attendants appears in the dim aisle, a few dozen headsets strung from her arm like shoelaces. She leans over the lady on the end withan exaggerated whisper.

"Would either of you like one?" she asks, and they both shake their heads.

"I have one, thanks," Ichigo says, and as she moves to the next row, he reaches into his pocket and emerges with his own earphones, unplugging them from his iPod. Rukia reaches below the seat for her backpack, rooting through it to find hers, too.

"Wouldn't want to miss Chappy," she jokes, but he's not listening. He's looking with interest at the pile of books and magazines she's set on her lap while digging through the bag.

"You obviously do read some good literature," he says, picking up the worn copy of Our Mutual Friend. He leafs through the pages carefully, almost reverently. "I love Dickens."

"Me, too," Rukia says. "But I haven't read this one."

"You should," Ichigo tells her. "It's one of the best."

"So I've heard."

"Somebody's certainly read it. Look at all these folded pages."

"It's my dad's," Rukia says with a little frown. "He gave it to me."

He glances up at her, then closes the book on his lap. "And?"

"And I'm bringing it to Tokyo to give it back to him."

"Without having read it?"

"Without having read it."

"I'm guessing this is more complicated than it sounds."

She nods. "You guessed right, It's his wedding," Rukia says quietly. "My dad's."

Ichigo nods. "Ah."

"Yeah."

"I'm guessing it's not a wedding gift, then."

"No," she says. "I'd say it's more of a gesture. Or maybe a protest."

"A Dickensian protest," he says. "Interesting."

"Something like that."

He's still idly thumbing through the pages, pausing every so often to scan a few lines. "Maybe you should read it first."

"I can always get another at the library."

"I didn't just mean because of that."

"I know," she says, glancing down at the book again. She catches a flash of something as he leafs through, and she grabs his wrist without thinking.

"Wait, stop."

He lifts his hands, and she takes the book from his lap.

"I thought I saw something," she says, flipping back a few pages, her eyes narrowed. Her breath catches in her throat when she spots an underlined sentence, the line uneven, the ink faded. It's the simplest of markings: nothing written in the margin, no dog-eared page to flag it. Only a single line, hidden deep within the book, underscored by a wavery stroke of ink.

Even after all this time, even with all she's said to him and all she still hasn't, even in spite of her intention to return the book (because that's how you send a message, not with some unmarked, underlined quote in an old novel), Rukia's heart still flutters at the idea that perhaps she's been missing something important all this time. And now here it is on the page, staring up at her in plain black and white.

Ichigo is looking at her, the question written all over his face, and so she murmurs the words out loud, running her finger along the line her father must have made.

"Is it better to have had a good thing and lost it, or never to have had it?"

When she glances up, their eyes meet for the briefest moment before they both look away again. Above them, Chappy the Rabbit is dancing on the screen, along with its friends their happy little home, and Rukia lowers her chin to read the sentence again, this time to herself, then snaps the book shut and shoves it back into her bag.

 **A/N:**

 **Forgive the** m **istakes.. I was writing this very, very fast.. :) Hope I'** m **finish to** mo **rrow..**


	6. Chapter 6

Rukia in sleep: drifting, dreaming. In the small, faraway corners of her mind—humming, even as the rest of her has gone limp with exhaustion—she's on another flight, the one she missed, three hours farther along and seated beside a middle-aged man with a twitching mustache who sneezes and flinches , never saying a word to her as she grows ever more anxious, her hand pressed against the window, where beyond the glass there is nothing but nothing but nothing.

She opens her eyes, awake all at once, to find Ichigo's face just inches from her own, watchful and quiet, his expression unreadable. Rukia brings a hand to her heart, startled, before it registers that her head is on his shoulder.

"Sorry," she mumbles, pulling away. The plane is almost completely dark now, and it seems everyone on the flight is asleep. Even the television screens have gone black again, and Rukia pulls her tingling wrist from where it was wedged between them. She runs a hand through her hair and then glances sideways at Ichigo's shirt, relieved there's no sign of any drool, especially when he hands her a napkin.

"What's this for?"

He nods at it, and when she looks again, she sees that he's drawn Chappy the Rabbit from the movie.

"Is this your usual medium?" she asks. "Pen on napkin?"

He smiles.

She tucks the napkin in the top of her bag. "You don't sleep on planes?"

He shrugs. "Normally I do."

"But not tonight?"

He shakes his head. "Apparently not."

"Sorry," she says again, but he waves it off.

"You looked peaceful."

"I don't feel peaceful," she says. "But it's

probably good that I slept now, so I don't do it during the ceremony tomorrow."

He looks at his own watch. "You mean today."

"Right," she says, then makes a face. "I'm a bridesmaid."

"That's nice."

"Not if I miss the ceremony."

"Well, there's always the reception."

"True," she says, yawning again. "I can't wait to sit all by myself and watch my dad dance with a woman I've never met before."

"You've never met her?" Ichigo asks,

"Nope."

"Wow," he says. "So I take it you aren't all that close?"

"Me and my dad? We used to be."

"And then?"

"And then that stupid city swallowed him whole."

Ichigo laughs a small, uncertain laugh.

"He went over to teach for a semester," Rukia explains. "And then he didn't come back."

"When?"

"Almost two years ago."

"And that's when he met this woman?"

"Bingo."

He shakes his head. "That's awful."

"Yeah," She says,

Ichigo frowns. "I think it's brave."

"What?"

"That you're going. That you're facing up to it. That you're moving on. It's brave."

"It doesn't feel that way."

"That's because you're in the middle of it," he says. "But you'll see."

She studies him carefully. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"I suppose you're not dreading yours half as much as I'm dreading mine?"

"Don't be too sure," he says stiffly. He'd been sitting close, his body angled toward hers, but now he moves away again, just barely, but enough so that she notices.

Rukia leans forward as he leans back, as if the two of them are joined by some invisible force. It's not as if her father's wedding is a particularly cheery subject for her, and she told him about that, didn't she? "So will you get to see your parents while you're home?"

He nods.

"That'll be nice," she says. "Are you guys close?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it again , then he sighs a sound that comes out almost like a groan. "Let's see," he says eventually. "I have two younger sisters"

"Do they all still live in Tokyo?"

"Right. What else? My dad

wasn't happy when I chose Karakura University over Tokyo University, but my

mom was really pleased..."

"Is that why he didn't come over with you at the start of school?"

Ichigo gives her a pained look, like he'd rather be anywhere but here, "You ask an awful lot of questions."

"I told you that my dad left us for and that I haven't seen him in over a year," she says. "Come on. I'm pretty sure there's no family drama that could top that."

"You didn't tell me that," he says. "That you haven't seen him in so long. I thought you just hadn't met her."

Now it's Rukia's turn to fidget in her seat. "We talk on the phone," she says. "But I'm still too angry to see him."

"Does he know that?"

"That I'm angry?"

Ichigo nods.

"Of course," she says, then tilts her head at him. "But we're not talking about me, remember?"

"I just find it interesting," he says, "that you're so open about it. Everyone's always wound up about something in my family, but nobody ever says anything."

"Maybe you'd be better off if you did."

"Maybe."

Rukia realizes they've been whispering, leaning close in the shadows cast by the yellow reading light of the man in front of them. It almost feels as if they're alone, as if they could be anywhere, on a psomewhere or in a restaurant, miles below, with their feet firmly on the ground. She's close enough to see a small scar above his eye, the ghost of a beard along his jawline, the astonishing length of his eyelashes. Without even really meaning to, she finds herself leaning away, and Ichigo looks startled by her sudden movement.

"Sorry," he says, sitting up and pulling his hand back from the armrest. "I forgot you get claustrophobic. You must be dying."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Actually, it hasn't been so bad."

He juts his chin at the window, where the shade's still pulled down. "I still think it would help if you could see outside. It feels small in here even to me with no windows."

"That's my dad's trick," Rukia tells him. "The first time it happened, he told me to imagine the sky. But that only helps when the sky's above you."

"Right," Ichigo says. "Makes sense."

They both fall silent, studying their hands as the quiet stretches between them.

"I used to be afraid of the dark," Ichigo says after a moment. "And not just when I was little. It lasted till I was nearly eleven."

Rukia glances over, not sure what to say. His face looks more boyish now, less angular, his amber rounder. She has a sudden urge to put her hand over his, but she stops herself.

" I remember I'd go into my parents' bedroom in the middle of the night and he'd

tell me to stop being such a little girl. Or he'd tell me stories about monsters in the wardrobe, just to wind me up. His only advice was always just 'Grow up.' A real gem, right?"

"Parents aren't always right about everything," Rukia says. "Sometimes it just takes a while to

figure that out."

"But then there was this one night," he continues, "when Iwoke up and he was plugging in a night-light next to my bed. I'm sure he thought I was asleep, or else he'd never be caught dead, but I didn't say anything, just watched him plug it in and switch it on so there was this little circle of blue light."

Rukia smiles. "So he came around."

"In his own way, I guess," Ichigo says. "But I mean, he must've bought it earlier in the day, right?

He could've given it to me when he got back from the shop, or plugged it in before I went to bed. But he had to do it when nobody was watching." she's struck by how sad he looks. "I'm not sure why I told you that."

"Because I asked," she says simply.

He draws in a jagged breath, and Rukiia can see that his cheeks are flushed. The seat in front of her bobbles as the man readjusts the doughnutshaped pillow around his neck. The cabin is quiet but for the hum of the air-conditioning, the soft flap of pages being turned, the occasional snuffling and shuffling of passengers trying their best to endure these last hours before landing.

Rukia thinks again of her mother, of the awful things she said to her.

Beside her, Ichigo rubs his eyes. "I have a great idea," he says. "How about we talk about

something other than our parents?"

Rukia bobs her head. "Definitely."

But neither of them speaks. A minute ticks by, then another, and as the silence between themswells, they both begin to laugh.

"I'm afraid we might have to discuss the weather if you don't come up with something more

interesting," he says, and Rukia raises her eyebrows.

"Me?"

He nods. "You."

"Okay," she says, cringing even before she's formed the words, but the question has blooming inside of her for hours now, and the only thing to do, finally, is to ask it: "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Ichigo's cheeks redden, and the smile she catches as he ducks his head is maddeningly cryptic; it is, Rukia decides, a smile with one of two meanings. The bigger part of her worries that it must be charitable, designed to make her feel less awkward about both the question and the coming answer, but something else keeps her wondering all the same: Maybe—just maybe—it's something even kinder than that, something full of understanding, a seal on the unspoken agreement bbetween them that something is happening here, that this just might be a kind of beginning.

After a long moment, he shakes his head. "No girlfriend."

With this, it seems to Rukia that some sort of door has opened, but now that it finally has, she isn't quite sure how to proceed. "How come?"

He shrugs. "Haven't met anyone I want to spend fifty-two years with, I guess."

"There must be a million girls at the University."

"Probably more like five or six thousand, actually. but I've never dated one."

"That's not part of your summer research?"

He shakes his head. "Not unless the girl happens to be afraid of mayo, which, as you know,dovetails nicely with my study."

"Right," Rukia says, grinning. "So did you have a girlfriend in high school?"

"In secondary school, yes. She was nice. Quite fond of video games and pizza deliveries."

"Very funny," She says says.

"Well, I guess we can't all have epic loves at such a young age."

"So what happened to her?"

He tilts his head back against the seat. "What happened? I guess what always happens. We

graduated. I left. We moved on. What happened to Mr. Pizza?"

"He did more than deliver pizzas, you know.."

"Breadsticks, too?"

"Rukia makes a face at him. "He broke up with me, actually."

"What happened?"

She sighs, adopting a philosophical tone. "What always happens, I guess. He saw me talking to another guy at a basketball game and got jealous, so he broke up with me over e-mail."

"Ah," Ichigo says. "Epic love at its most tragic."

"Something like that," she agrees, looking to find him watching her closely.

"He's an idiot."

"That's true," she says. "He was always sort of an idiot."

"Still," Ichigo says, and Rukia smiles at him gratefully. He glances over at the old woman, still snoring in uneven rasps, her mouth twitching every now and then.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he admits, and Rukia nods.

"Me, too. I bet we can squeeze past her."

He unbuckles his seat belt and half stands in a jerky motion, bumping into the seat in front of him and eliciting a dirty look from the woman seated there. Rukia watches as he tries to maneuver past the old lady without waking her, and when they've both managed to make it out of their row, she follows him down the aisle and toward the back of the plane. A bored-looking flight attendant in a folded-down jump seat looks up from her magazine as they pass.

The OCCUPIED lights are on above both bathroom doors, so Rukia and Ichigo stand in the small square of space just outside. They're close enough that she can smell the fabric of his shirt, and his warm breath; not so close that they're touching.

She lifts her chin to find that he's looking down at her with the same expression she saw on his face earlier, when she woke up with her head on his shoulder. Neither of them moves and neither speaks; they just stand there watching each other in the darkness, the engines whirring beneath their feet. It occurs to her that—impossibly, improbably—he

might be about to kiss her, and she inches just the tiniest bit closer, her heart skidding around in her chest. His hand brushes against hers, and Rukia feels it like a bolt of electricity, the shock of it moving straight up her spine. To her surprise, Ichigo does not pull away; instead, he fits his hand into hers as if anchoring her there, then tugs gently, moving her closer.

It almost feels as if they're completely alone—no captain or crew, no rows of dozing passengers stretching the length of the plane—and she takes a deep breath and tips her head to look up at him.

" Rukia.." he whispers, leaning closer and closer.

But then the door to one of the bathrooms is suddenly thrown open, bathing them in a too-bright wedge of light, and a little boy walks out trailing a long ribbon of toilet paper from one of his red shoes.

And just like that, the moment is over.


	7. Chapter 7

Rukia wakes suddenly, without even realizing she'd been sleeping again. The cabin is still mostly dark, but the edges of the windows are now laced with daylight, and all around them people are beginning to stir, yawning and stretching and passing trays of rubbery bacon and eggs back across to the flight attendants, who look impossibly fresh and remarkably unwrinkled after such a long trip. Ichigo's head is resting on her shoulder this time, pinning Rukia into place, and when her attempt to stay perfectly still instead results in a kind of twitchy tremor that sets her arm in motion, he lurches up as if he's been shocked.

"Sorry," they say at the exact same time, then Rukia says it again: "Sorry."

Ichigo rubs his eyes like a child awakening from a bad dream, then blinks at her, staring for just a beat too long. She tries not to take it personally, but she knows she must look awful this morning. Earlier, when she stood in the tiny bathroom and regarded herself in the even tinier mirror, she'd been surprised to see how pale she looked, her eyes puffy from the stale air and high 'd squinted at her reflection, marveling at the fact that Ichigo was bothering with her at all.

She wasn't normally the kind of girl to worry too much about hair and makeup, and she didn't tend to spend a lot of time in front of the mirror, but she was small and pretty enough in the ways that seemed to count for the boys at her school. Still, the image in the mirror had been somewhat alarming, and that was before she'd nodded off for the second time. She can't imagine what she must look like now.

Every inch of her feels achy with exhaustion, and her eyes sting; there's a soda stain near the collar of her shirt, and she's almost afraid to discover what might be going on with her hair at the moment.

But Ichigo looks different, too. His eyes are still caked with sleep and here's a line running from his cheek to his temple where it was pressed against her shirt. But it's more than that, he looks pale and tired and drained, his eyes looks somehow very faraway.

He arches his back in a stretch, then squints blearily at his watch. "Almost there."

She nods, relieved that they're right on schedule, though a part of her also can't help wishing for more time. In spite of everything—the crowded quarters and the cramped seats, the smells that have been drifting up and down the length of the cabin for hours now—she doesn't feel quite ready to step off this plane, where it's been so easy to loseherself in conversation, to forget all that she left behind and all that's still ahead.

The man in front of them pushes open his window, the sun is so startlingly bright that she brings a hand to her eyes—streams in all around them, snuffing out the darkness, stripping away whatever was left of last night's magic. Rukia reaches over to nudge op her own window shade, the spell now officially broken. Outside, the sky is a blinding blue, striped with clouds like layers on a cake. After so many hours in the dark, it almost hurts to look for too long.

She stretches to reach the nozzle on the panel above her, twisting it all the way to the left and then closing her eyes against the thin jet of cool air.

"So.." he says, cracking his knuckles one at a time.

"So."

They look at each other sideways, and something about the expression on his face—an uncertainty that mirrors her own—makes Rukia want to cry. There's no real distinction between last night and this morning, of course—just dark bleeding into light—but even so, everything feels horribly different. She thinks of the way they stood together near the bathroom, how it seemed like they'd been on the brink of something, of everything, like the whole world was changing as they huddled together in the dark. And now here they are, like two polite strangers, like she'd only ever imagined the rest of it.

She wishes they could turn around again and fly back in the other direction, circling the globe backward, chasing the night they left behind.

"Do you think," she says, the words emerging thickly, "we might have used up all our conversation last night?"

"Not possible," says Ichigo, and the way he say it, his mouth turned up in a smile, his voice full of warmth, unwinds the knot in Rukia's stomach. "We haven't even gotten to the really important stuff yet."

"Like what?" she asks, trying to arrange her face in a way that disguises the relief she feels. "Like what's so great about Dickens?"

"Not at all," he says. "More like the plight of koalas. Or the fact that Venice is sinking." He pauses, waiting for this to register, and when Rukia says nothing, he slaps his knee for emphasis.

"Sinking! The whole city! Can you believe it?"

She frowns in mock seriousness. "That does sound pretty important."

"It is," Ichigo insists. "And don't even get me started on the size of our carbon footprint after this trip. Or the difference between crocodiles and alligators. Or the longest recorded flight of a chicken."

"Please tell me you don't actually know that."

"Thirteen seconds," he says, leaning forward to look past her and out the window. "This is a total disaster. We're nearly to our destination and we haven't even properly discussed flying chickens." He jabs a finger at the window. "And see those clouds?"

"Hard to miss," She says; the plane is now almost fully enveloped in fog, the grayness pressing up against the windows as the plane dips lower and lower.

"Those are cumulus clouds. Did you know that?"

"I'm sure I should."

"They're the best ones."

"How come?"

"Because they look the way clouds are supposed to look, the way you draw them when you're a kid. Which is nice, you know? I mean, the sun never looks the way you drew it."

"Like a wheel with spokes?"

"Exactly. And my family certainly never looked the way I drew them."

"Stick figures?"

"Come on now," he says. "Give me a little credit. They had hands and feet, too."

"That looked like mittens?"

"But it's nice, isn't it? When something matches up like that?" He bobs his head with a satisfied smile. "Cumulus clouds. Best clouds ever."

Rukia shrugs. "I guess I never really thought about it."

"Well, then, see?" Ichigo says. "There's loads more to talk about. We've only just gotten started.

Beyond the window the clouds are bottoming out, and the plane lowers itself gently into the silvery sky below. Rukia feels a rush of illogical relief at the sight of the ground, though it's still too far away to make any sense, just a collection of quilted fields and shapeless buildings, the faint tracings of roads running through them like gray threads.

Ichigo yawns and leans his head back against the seat. "I guess we probably should have slept more," he says. "I'm pretty tired."

They've nearly forgotten the old woman beside them, who's been sleeping for so long that it's the absence of her muffled snoring that finally startles them into looking over.

"What did I miss?" she asks, reaching for her purse, from which she carefully removes her glasses, a bottle of eye drops, and the small tin of mints.

"We're almost there," Rukia tells her. "But you're lucky you slept. It was a long flight."

"It was," Ichigo says, and though he's facing away from her, Rukia can hear the smile in his voice. "It felt like forever."

The flight attendants do one last sweep of the aisle, reminding people to put their seat backs up, fasten their safety belts, and tuck away their bags.

"Looks like we could even be a few minutes early," Ichigo says. "So unless customs is a complete nightmare, you might actually have a shot at making this thing. Where's the wedding?"

Rukia leans forward and pulls the Dickens book from her bag again, slipping the invitation out from near the back, where she has pressed it for safekeeping. "The Cerulean Tower Tokyu Hotel," she says.

Ichigo leans over to look at the elegant calligraphy scrawled across the cream-colored invitation. "That's the reception," he says, pointing just above it. "The ceremony's at Grace City Church."

"Is that close?"

He shakes his head. "Not exactly. But nothing really is. You should be okay if you hurry."

"Where's yours?"

His jaw tightens. "Shinjuku."

"Where's that?"

"Near where I grew up," he says. "West Tokyo."

"Sounds nice," she offers, but he doesn't smile. "It's the church we used to go to as kids," he says. "I haven't been there in ages. I used to always get in trouble for climbing the statue of Mary out front"

"Nice," Rukia says, tucking the wedding invitation back inside the book and then shutting it a bit too hard, causing Ichigo to flinch. He watches her shove it back into her bag.

"So will you still give it back to him?"

"I don't know," she says truthfully. "Probably."

He considers this for a moment. "Will you at least wait till after the wedding?"

Rukia hadn't planned on it. In fact, she'd envisioned herself marching right up to him before the ceremony and handing it over, mutinously, triumphantly. It was the only thing he'd given her since he left—really given her; not a gift mailed out for her birthday or Christmas, but something he'd handed to her himself—and there was something satisfying in the idea of giving it right back. If she was going to be made to attend his wedding, then she was going to do it her way.

But Ichigo is watching her with a look of great earnestness, and she can't help feeling a bit uncomfortable beneath his hopeful gaze. Her voice wavers when she answers. "I'll think about it," she says, then adds, "I might not get there in time anyway.."

Their eyes drift to the window to chart their progress, and Rukia pushes down a wave of panic; not so much for the landing itself, but for all that begins and ends with it. Out the window, the ground is rushing up to meet them, making everything—all the blurry shapes below—suddenly clear, the churches and the fences and the fast-food restaurants, even the scattered sheep in an isolated field, and she watches it all draw closer, wrapping a hand tightly around her seat belt, bracing herself as if arriving were no better than crashing.

The wheels hit the ground with one bounce, then two, before the velocity of the landing pins them firmly to the runway and they're shot forward like a blown cork, all wind and engines and rushing noise, and a sense of momentum so strong that she wonders if they'll be able to stop at all. But they do, of course they do, and everything goes quiet again.

Their runway fans out to join others like a giant maze, until they're all swallowed by an apron of maze, until they're all swallowed by an apron of asphalt stretching as far as Rukia can see interrupted only by radio towers and rows of planes and the great hulking terminal, which sits bleakly beneath the low gray sky.

 _"So this is Tokyo.."_ she thinks. Her back is still to Ichigo, but she finds herself glued to the window by some invisible force, unable to turn and face him without quite knowing why.

As they pull up to the gate, she can see the ramp stretched out to meet them, and the plane slips into position gracefully, locking on with a small shudder. But even once they're firmly anchored in place, once the engines are cut and the seat-belt lights go off with a ping, Rukia remains still. There's a collective hum of noise at her back as the rest of the passengers stand to collect their baggage, and Ichigo waits a moment before lightly touching her arm. She whirls around.

"Ready?" he asks, and she shakes her head, just barely, but enough to make him smile. "Me, neither," he admits, standing up anyway.

Ahead of them, the old woman takes a few small, birdlike steps out into the aisle before pausing to peer up at the overhead bins. Ichigo moves quickly to help, ignoring the crowd of people behind them as he pulls down her battered suitcase and then waits patiently while she gets herself situated.

"Thank you," she says, beaming at him. "You're such a nice boy." She moves to begin walking, then hesitates, as if she's forgotten something, and looks back again. "You remind me of my husband," she says to Ichigo, who shakes his head in protest. But the woman has already begun to pivot around again, in a series of tiny steps, like the minute hand on a clock, and when she's finally pointed in the right direction she begins her slow shuffle up the aisle, leaving the two of them to watch her go.

"Hope that was a compliment," Ichigo says, looking a bit sheepish.

"They've been married fifty-two years," Rukia reminds him.

He gives her a sideways glance as she reaches for her suitcase. "Thought you didn't think much of marriage."

"I don't," she says, heading toward the exit.

When he catches up to her on the walkway,neither of them says a word, but she feels it anyway, bearing down on them like a train: the moment when they'll have to say good-bye. And for the first time in hours, she feels suddenly shy.

Beside her, Ichigo is craning his neck to read the signs for customs, already thinking about the next thing, already moving on. Because that's what youdo on planes. You share an armrest with someone for a few hours. You exchange stories about your life, an amusing anecdote or two, maybe even a joke. You comment on the weather and remark about the terrible food. You listen to him snore. And then you say good-bye.

So why does she feel so completely unprepared for this next part?

She should be worrying about finding a taxi and making it to the church on time, seeing her dad again and meeting his fiancee. But what she's thinking about instead is Ichigo, and this realization—this reluctance to let go—throws everything into sudden doubt. What if she's gotten it all wrong, these last hours? What if it isn't as she thought?

Already, everything is different. Already, Ichigo feels a million miles away.

When they reach the end of the corridor they're greeted by the tail end of a long queue, where their fellow passengers stand with bags strewn at their feet, restless and grumbling. As she drops her backpack, Rukia does a mental tally of all that she packed inside, trying to remember whether she threw in a pen that could be used to capture a phone number or an e-mail address, some scrap of information about him, an insurance policy against forgetting. But she feels frozen inside of herself trapped by her inability to say anything that won't come out sounding vaguely desperate.

Ichigo yawns and stretches, his hands high and his back arched, then drops his elbow casually onto her shoulder, pretending to use her for support. But the weight of his arm feels like it just might be the thing to unbalance her, and she swallows hard before looking up at him, uncharacteristically flustered.

"Are you taking a cab?" she asks, and he nods his head and reclaims his arm.

Rukia wonders whether he's heading home to shower and change or going straight to the wedding. She hates the fact that she won't know. It feels like the last day of school, the final night at summer camp, like everything is coming to an abrupt and dizzying end.

To her surprise, he lowers his face so it's level with hers, then narrows his eyes and touches a finger lightly to her cheek.

"Eyelash," he says, rubbing his thumb to get rid of it.

"What about my wish?"

"I made it for you," he says with a smile so crooked it makes her heart dip.

Is it possible she's only known him for ten hours?

"I wished for a speedy trip through customs," he tells her. "Otherwise, you don't have a shot in hell at making this thing."

Rukia glances at the clock on the concrete wall above them and realizes he's right; it's already 10:08, less than two hours before the wedding is scheduled to begin. And here she is, stuck in customs, her hair tangled and her dress wadded up in her bag. She tries to picture herself walking down the aisle, but something about the image refuses to match up with her current state.

She sighs. "Does this usually take long?"

"Not now that I've made my wish," Ichigo says, and then, as if it were just that simple, the line begins to move. He gives her a triumphant look as he steps forward, and Rukia trails after him, shaking her head.

"If that's all it takes, you couldn't have wished for a million yen?"

"No. Who'd want to deal with the taxes?" he says.

"What taxes?"

"On your million yen. At least eighty-eight percent of that would probably go straight to the Prime minister."

Rukia gives him a long look. "Eighty-eight percent, huh?"

"The numbers never lie," he says with a grin.

When they reach the point where the line forks, they're greeted by a joyless customs official who's leaning against the metal railing and pointing to a sign that indicates which direction they're meant to go.

"EU citizens to the right, all others to the left," he repeats over and over again, his voice thin and reedy and mostly lost to the thrum of the crowd. "EU citizens to the right…"

Rukia and Ichigo exchange a look, and all her uncertainty disappears. Because it's there in his face, a fleeting reluctance that matches her own.

They stand there together for a long time, for too long, for what seems like forever, each unwilling to part ways, letting the people behind them stream past like a river around rocks.

"Sir," says the customs official, breaking off mid mantra to put a hand on Ichigo's back, shepherding him forward, urging him away. "I'm going to have to ask you to keep moving so you don't hold up the line."

"Just one minute—" Ichigo begins, but he's cut off. "Sir, now," the man says, directing him a little bit more insistently.

A woman with a hiccupping baby is trying to push past Rukia, shoving her forward in the process, and there seems to be nothing to do but let herself be borne along by the current. But before she can move any farther she feels a hand on her elbow, and just like that Ichigo is beside her again. He looks down at her with his head tilted, his hand still firmly on her own, and before she has a chance to be nervous, before she even fully realizes what's happening, she hears him mutter "What the hell," and then, to her surprise, he bends to kiss her.

The line continues to move around them and the customs official gives up for the moment with a frustrated sigh, but Rukia doesn't notice any of it, she grabs Ichigo's shirt tightly, afraid of being swept away from him, but his hand is pressing on her back as he kisses her, holding her close , and the truth is, she's never felt so safe in her life. His lips are soft and taste salty from the pretzels they shared earlier, and she closes her eyes—just for a moment—and the rest of the world disappears. By the time he pulls away with a grin, she's too stunned to say anything. She stumbles backward a step as the customs guy hurries Ichigo along in the other direction, rolling his eyes.

"It's not like the lines lead to separate countries," he mutters.

The concrete partition between the two areas is coming up fast between them, and Ichigo lifts a hand to wave, still beaming at her. In a moment, Rukia realizes, she won't be able to see him all, but she catches his eye and waves back. He points a finger toward the front of his line and she nods, hoping it means she'll see him out there, and then he's gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Rukia's suitcase rocks back and forth unsteadily as she hurries past the checkpoint and toward the baggage claim. It's now 10:42, and if she doesn't manage to get a cab in the next few minutes there's pretty much no chance she'll make the ceremony. But she's not thinking about that yet. She's thinking only of him, of Ichigo, and when she emerges into the baggage area—a sea of people, all crowded behind a black rope, holding signs and waiting for friends and family—her heart sinks.

Rukia wheels in a circle, her bags feeling like they weigh a thousand pounds, her shirt sticking to her back, her hair falling across her eyes. There are children and grandparents, limo drivers and airport officials, a guy with a Starbucks apron and three monks in red robes. A million people, it seems, and none of them is Ichigo.

She backs up against a wall and sets down her things, forgetting even to worry about the crush of people. Her mind is too busy with the possibilities. It could have been anything, really. His line could have taken longer. He could have been held up at customs. He might have emerged earlier and assumed that she'd gone ahead. They could have crossed paths and not even noticed.

He might simply have left.

But still, she waits.

The giant clock above the flight board stares down at her accusingly, and she tries to ignore the mounting sense of panic that's ballooning inside her. How could he not have said good-bye? Or was that what he'd meant by the kiss? Still, after all those hours, all those moments between them, how could that just be it?

She realizes she doesn't even know his last name.

The very last place she wants to go right now is to a wedding. She can almost feel the last of her energy receding. But as the minutes tick by, it's becoming harder to ignore the fact that she's going to miss the ceremony. With some amount of effort, she peels herself away from the wall to make one last sweep of the place, her feet heavy as she paces the enormous the place, her feet heavy as she paces the enormous terminal, but Ichigo, with his blue shirt and untidy orange hair, is nowhere to be found.

And so, with nothing more to be done, Rukia finally makes her way out through the sliding door. The line for taxis is almost comically long, and Rukia drags her suitcase to the end of it with a groan, she waits numbly as the line creeps forward, the lack of sleep finally beginning to catch up to her. Everything seems to blur as her gaze moves from the queue ahead of her to the departing buses to the line of taxis waiting their turn, as solemn and silent as a funeral procession.

He's gone, she tells herself again. It's just as simple as that. But even so, she keeps her back to the terminal, resisting the urge to turn around and look for him one more time. Someone once told her there's a formula for how long it takes to get over someone, that it's half as long as the time you've been together. Rukia has her doubts about how accurate this could possibly be, a calculation so simple for something as complicated as heartbreak. After all, her parents had been married almost twenty years, and it took Dad only a few short months to fall for someone else. And when her ex-boyfriend dumped her after a whole semester, it took her only about ten days to feel done with him entirely. Still, she takes comfort in the knowledge that she's known Ichigo for only a matter of hours, meaning this knot in her chest should be gone by the end of the day, at the very latest.

When it's finally her turn at the front of the line, she digs through her bag for the address of the church while the cabbie—tosses her suitcase roughly into the trunk without so much as a pause in conversation as he jabbers away into his hands-free phone. She hands over the address and the cabbie climbs back into the car without any sort of acknowledgment of his new passenger.

"How long will it take?" she asks as she slips into the backseat, and he halts his steady chatter just long enough to let out a sharp bark of a laugh.

"Long time," he says, then pulls out into the slow crawl of traffic.

"Super," Rukia says under her breath.

-x-

On the plane Ichigo told her about trips with his family and Rukia had folded her arms as she listened, wishing she were on her way to somewhere like that. It wasn't such a leap, from where she was sitting.

There on the plane, it wasn't so very hard to imagine they could be headed somewhere together.

" _Which was your favorite?" she'd asked. "Of all the places you've been?"_

 _He seemed to consider this for a moment before that striking smile appeared on his face._

" _Karakura."_

 _Rukia laughed. "Really?,"_

 _He nods. "What about you?"_

" _Alaska, probably. Or Hawaii."_

 _Ichigo looked impressed. "Not bad. The two most far-flung states."_

" _I've been to all but one, actually."_

" _You're kidding."_

 _Rukia shook her head. "Nope, we used to take a lot of family road trips when I was younger."_

" _So you drove to Hawaii? How was that?"_

 _She grinned. "We thought it made more sense to fly to that one, actually."_

" _So which one have you missed?"_

" _North Dakota."_

" _How come?"_

 _She shrugged. "Just haven't made it there yet, I guess"_

" _I wonder how long it would take to drive there from Karakura Town."_

 _Rukia laughed. "Can you even drive on the right side of the road?"_

" _Yes," Ichigo said, flashing her a look of mock anger. "I know it's shocking to think that I might be able to operate a vehicle on the wrong side of the road, but I'm actually quite good. You'll see when we take our big road trip to North Dakota one day."_

" _I can't wait," Rukia said, reminding herself that it was only a joke. Still, the idea of the two of them crossing the country together, listening to music as the horizon rolled past, had been enough to make her smile._

" _If you could go anywhere else in the world, where would it be?" he asked._

 _Rukia thought about this for a moment. "Maybe Australia. Or Paris. How about you?"_

 _Ichigo had looked at her as if it were obvious, the faintest hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth. "North Dakota," he'd said._

Now Rukia presses her forehead against the window of the taxi and once again finds herself smiling at the thought of him. He's like a song she can't get out of her head. Hard as she tries, the melody of their meeting runs through her mind on an endless loop, each time as surprisingly sweet as the last, like a lullaby, like a hymn, and she doesn't think she could ever get tired of hearing it.

-x-

At exactly 11:46, they pull up to an enormous church with a red roof and a steeple so high the very top of it is lost to the mist. The front doors are open, and two round-faced men in tuxes hover in the doorway.

Rukia steps out into the rain to heave her suitcase from the trunk, the driver pulls away in the taxi, and she simply stands there for a moment, peering up at the church.

From inside she can hear the deep peals of an organ, and in the doorway the two ushers shuffle their stacks of programs and smile at her expectantly. But she spots another door along the brick wall out front and sets off in that direction instead.

The door leads to a small garden with a stone statue of a saint, currently occupied by three pigeons. She wheels her suitcase along the side of the building until she comes across another door, and when she shoves it open with her shoulder the sound of the music fills the garden. She looks right and then left down the hallway before taking off toward the back of the church, where she runs into a small woman wearing a little hat with feathers.

"Sorry," Rukia says, half whispering. "I'm looking for… the groom?"

"Ah, you must be Rukia!" the woman says. "I'm so glad you made it. Don't worry, dear. The girls are waiting for you downstairs." She says girls as if it rhymes with carols, and Rukia realizes this must be the bride's mother. Now that Dad is getting married, Rukia wonders if she's supposed to consider this woman—this total stranger—a grandmother of sorts. She's struck a bit speechless by the idea of it, wondering what other new family members she might be acquiring once the day's events are set in motion. But before she has a chance to say anything, the woman makes a little flapping motion with her hands.

"Better hurry," she says, and Rukia finds her voice again, thanking her quickly before heading toward the stairwell.

As she bumps her suitcase down one step at a time, she can hear a flurry of voices, and by the time he hits the bottom, she's completely surrounded.

"There she is," one of the women says, putting an arm around her shoulders to shepherd her into a dressing room. Another grabs her suitcase, and a third guides her into a folding chair, which is set up in front of the mirror.

All four women are already wearing their lavender bridesmaid dresses, and their hair is sprayed, their eyebrows plucked, their makeup done. Rukia tries to keep them straight as they introduce themselves, but it's clear that there's very little time for pleasantries; these women are all business.

"We thought you might miss it," says ,Rangiku, the maid of honor. She flits around Rukia's head, taking a clip from her mouth. Another, Nanao, grabs a makeup brush and then squints for a moment before getting to work. In the mirror, Rukia can see that the other two have opened her suitcase and are attempting to smooth out the dress, which is as hopelessly wrinkled as she feared.

"Don't worry, don't worry," says Senna, disappearing into the bathroom with it. "It's the kind of dress where the creases just give it a little life."

By the time they're done with her a mere ten minutes later, Rukia has to admit they've pulled off some sort of miracle. The dress, while still a bit squashed, looks better than it ever did when she tried it on back home. The spaghetti straps are the perfect length and the lavender silk hangs just right, ending at her knees. The shoes are Mom's, strappy sandals as shiny as two coins, and Rukia wiggles her painted toes as she studies them. Her raven hair is pulled back into an elegant bun, and between that and the makeup, she feels completely unlike herself.

"You look like a ballerina," says, momo, clasping her hands together delightedly, and Rukia smiles, a bit shy amid so many fairy godmothers. But even she has to admit that it's true.

"We better go," Rangiku says, glancing up at the clock, which reads 12:08.

-x-

By the time the ceremony is over, the rain has mostly stopped. Even so, there's an impressive flock of black umbrellas outside, guarding against the lingering mist and making the churchyard look more like a funeral gathering than a wedding.

She goes way back to the church and found Dad and now his wife talking to their friends,

"Rukia,"

Dad calls her as he guides her over to an older couple, "I want you to meet some very good friend of ours. Ukitake Jushiro "

Rukia shakes each of their hands, nodding politely. "Nice to meet you."

"So this is Rukia," says . "We've heard so much about you."

It's difficult to hide her surprise. "Really?"

"Of course," Dad says, squeezing her shoulder. "How many daughters do you think I have.."

"We just wanted to say congratulations before we go," says Mrs. Ukitake "We've got a funeral, of all things, but we'll be back for the reception later."

"I'm so sorry." Dad says. "Whose is it?"

"A very close friend of mine, ."

"That's terrible," Dad says. "Is it far?"

"Shinjuku," Mr. Ukitake says, and Rukia whips her head to look at him.

"Shinjuku?"

He nods, looking at her a little uncertainly, then turns back to Dad. "It starts at two, so we'd better be off. But congrats again," he says.

"We're looking forward to tonight."

As they leave, Rukia stares after them, her mind racing. The thinnest sliver of a thought is threading its way through her. One of the other bridesmaids hands her a small mirror, and she holds it gingerly, blinking back at herself, her mind a million miles away.

Rukia has no idea whether Shinjuku is a town or a neighborhood or even just a street. All she knows is that it's where Ichigo lives, and she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to think back to what he said on the plane.

Had he ever actually said he was going to a wedding?

 _"I'ts him"_ , she thinks. _"It's Ichigo's father"_

She knows nothing for sure, of course, but as soon as she attaches the words to it, gives name to the shapeless thoughts in her head, she's suddenly certain it must be true.

"Dad," she says quietly, and from where he's standing beside her, he moves his head just the tiniest bit, his smile unchanging.

"Yeah?"

"I have to go."

"Go where?"

Everyone is looking at her now, but Rukia doesn't care.

Because the possibility that Ichigo—who spent half the flight listening to her complain about this wedding like it was a tragedy of epic proportions—might be preparing for his father's funeral at this very moment is almost too much to bear.

She has to go to him. Now.

 **A/N:**

 **I'** m **glad you guys like this story! as** m **uch as I did..:)**

 **Enjoy reading!..**


	9. Chapter 9

Late last night, Rukia and Ichigo had shared a pack of tiny pretzels on the plane, he'd been quiet, studying her face for so long without speaking that she'd finally turned to face him.

 _"What?"_

 _"What do you want to be when you grow up?"_

 _She frowned. "That's a question you ask a four year-old."_

 _"Not necessarily," he said. Everyone has to be something."_

 _"What do you want to be?"_

 _He shrugged. "I asked you first."_

 _"An astronaut," she said. " A ballerina."_

 _He smirked. "Seriously."_

 _She crossed her arms. " You dont think I could be an astronaut?"_

 _"You could be the first ballerina on the moon."_

 _"I guess I've still some time to figure it out."_

 _"That's true." he said._

 _"And you?" she asked, expecting another sarcastic answer, some invented profession having to do with his mysterious research project._

 _"I dont know, either." he said quietly. "Certainly not a lawyer anyway."_

 _Rukia raised her eyebrows. "Is that what your dad does?"_

 _But he didnt answer, he only galred harder at the pretzel in his hand. " Never mind all this." he said after moment ."Who wants to think about the future anyway?"_

 _"Not me." she said. " I can hardly stand to think of the next few hours, much less the next few years."_

 _"That's why flying's so great." he said. "You're stuck where you are, you've got no choice in the matter."_

 _Rukia smiled at him. " It's not the worst place to be stuck."_

 _"No it's not." Ichigo agreed, popping the last pretzel in his mouth. " In fact there's nowhere else I'd rather be right now."_

-x-

Rukia is already out the door and across the street, the church bells tolling two o'clock in her wake, before she realizes she has no idea where she's going. A bus races past and, surprised, she stumbles backward a few steps before taking off after it. Even without her suitcase— which she left in the church—she's still too slow, and by the time she makes it around the corner, the bus has already pulled away again. Panting, she stoops to squint at the bus map that's plastered at the stop behind a thick pane of glass, though it turns out to be little more than a mystifying tangle of colored lines and unfamiliar names. She bites her lip as she studies it, thinking there must be a better way to crack this code, when she finally spots Shinjuku in the upper left-hand corner. It doesn't look all that far, but then, it's hard to get a feel for the scale of the thing, and for all Rukia knows, it's just as likely to be miles away as blocks.

There's not enough detail to pick out any landmarks, and she still has no clue what she'll do once she gets there; the only thing she remembers Ichigo saying about the church is that there's a statue of Mary out front and that he used to get in trouble for climbing it. She glances at the map again.

How many churches could there be in such a small patch of Tokyo? How many statues?

The stubborn map still refuses to give up its secrets, so she decides it's probably easiest to just ask the driver of the next bus that comes along and hope he'll be able to point her in the right direction. But after nearly ten minutes of waiting with no sign of a bus, she takes another stab at deciphering the routes, tapping her fingers on the glass with obvious impatience.

"You know the saying, don't you?" says a man in a soccer jersey. Rukia straightens up, acutely aware of how overdressed she is for a bus ride through Tokyo. When she doesn't respond, the guy continues. "You wait for ages, and then two come along at once."

"Am I in the right place to get to Shinjuku?"

"Shinjuku?" he says. "Yeah, you are."

When the bus arrives the man smiles encouragingly, so Rukia doesn't bother asking the driver. But as she watches out the window for signs, she wonders how she'll know when they've arrived, since most stops are labeled by street name rather than area. After a good fifteen minutes of aimless sightseeing, she finally works up the nerve to teeter to the front of the bus and ask which stop is hers.

"Shinjuku?" the driver says, showing a gold tooth as he grins. "You're headed in the direction."

Rukia groans. "Can you tell me which way is the right direction?"

He lets her off with directions for how to get to Shinjuku by train, and she pauses for a moment on the sidewalk. Her eyes travel up to the sky, where she's surprised to see a plane flying overhead, and something about the sight of it calms her again. She's suddenly back in seat 18A beside Ichigo, suspended above the water, surrounded by nothing but darkness.

And there on the street corner, it strikes her as something of a miracle that she met him at all. Imagine if she'd been on time for her flight. Or if she'd spent all those hours beside someone else, a complete stranger who, even after so many miles, remained that way. The idea that their paths might have just as easily not crossed leaves her breathless, like a near-miss accident on a highway, and she can't help marveling at the sheer randomness of it all. Like any survivor of chance, she feels a quick rush of thankfulness, part adrenaline and part hope.

She picks her way through the crowded streets, keeping an eye out for the Train stop. She passes a boy wearing the same blue shirt Ichigo had on earlier and her heart quickens at the sight of it.

When she finally spots the red and blue sign for the train she hurries down the stairs, blinking into the darkness of the underground. It takes her too long to figure out the ticket machines, and she can feel the people in line behind her shifting restlessly. Finally, a woman takes pity on her, first telling her which options to choose then nudging Rukia aside to do it herself.

"Here you go," she says, handing over the ticket. "Enjoy your trip."

The bus driver told Rukia she'd probably need to switch trains at some point, but as far as she can tell from the map, she can get there directly on the Circle Line. There's a digital sign that says the train will arrive in six minutes, so she presses herself into a small wedge of open space on the platform to wait.

She doesn't want to think about Dad and the wedding she left behind, and she's not sure she wants to think about Ichigo and what she might discover when she finds him. The train is still four minutes away and her head is pounding. The silky fabric of her dress feels far too sticky and the woman beside her is standing much too close. Rukia scrunches her nose against the smell of the place, musty and stale and sour all at once, like fruit gone bad in a small space.

She closes her eyes and thinks of her father's advice to her when they stood in the elevator, the walls collapsing like a house of cards all around her, and she imagines the sky beyond the arched ceiling of the train stop, above the sidewalk and past the narrow buildings. There's a pattern to this kind of coping, like a dream repeated night after night, always the same image: a few wispy clouds like a streak of paint across a blue canvas. But now she's surprised to find something new in the picture that's forming on the backs of her eyelids, something cutting across the blue sky of her imagination: an airplane.

Her eyes flicker open again as the train comes rushing out of the tunnel. Rukia's never sure if things are as small as they seem, or if it's just her panic that seems to dwarf them.

-x-

Hours by and Rukia arrives, she glances at her watch; nearly three PM, and she has no idea what to do now that she's here. As far as she can tell, there are no policemen around, no tourist offices or information booths, no bookstores or Internet cafés. It's like she's been dropped into the wilderness of Japan without a compass or a map, like some sort of ill-conceived challenge on a reality show.

She picks a direction at random and sets off down the street, wishing she'd stopped to change her shoes before bailing on the wedding. There's a fish 'n' chips place on the corner, and her stomach rumbles at the smells drifting from the door; the last thing she ate was that pack of pretzels on the plane, and the last time she slept was just before that. She'd like nothing more than to curl up and take a nap right now, but she keeps moving anyway fueled by a strange mix of fear and longing.

After ten minutes, she still hasn't passed a church. She ducks into a bookshop to ask if anybody knows about a statue of Mary, but the man looks at her so strangely that she backs out again without waiting for an answer. Along the narrow sidewalks are butch shops with huge cuts of meat hanging in the windows, clothing stores with mannequins in in heels much higher than Rukia's, pubs and restaurants, even a library that she nearly mistakes for a chapel. But as she circles the neighborhood, there doesn't seem to be a single church in sight, not one bell tower or steeple, until—quite suddenly—there is.

Emerging from an alleyway, she spots a narrow stone building across the street. She hesitates a moment, blinking at it like a mirage, then rushes forward, buoyed again. But then the bells begin to ring in a way that seems far too joyful for the occasion, and a wedding party spills out onto the steps.

Rukia hadn't realized she was holding her breath, but it comes rushing out of her now. She waits for the taxis to stop hurrying past and then crosses the street to confirm what she already knows: no funeral, no statue of Mary, no Ichigo.

Even so, she can't seem to pull herself away, and she stands there watching the aftermath of a wedding not unlike the one she just witnessed herself, the flower girls and the bridesmaids, the flashes of the cameras, the friends and family all wreathed in smiles. The bells finish their merry song and the sun slips lower in the sky and still she just stands there. After a long moment, she reaches into her purse. Then she does what she always does when she's lost: She calls her mother.

Her phone is nearly out of battery power, and her fingers tremble as she punches s in the numbers, anxious as she is to hear Mom's voice. It seems impossible that the last time they talked they had a fight and, even more, that it happened less than twenty-four hours ago. The departures lane at the airport now seems like something from another lifetime.

Her thoughts was cut off by the scene before her, her whole body going numb at the sight.

There on the small patch of lawn is a statue of Mary, the one Ichigo used to get in trouble for climbing. And standing around it, gathered in tight knots, is a crowd of people wearing shades of black and gray.

Rukia remains rooted a safe distance, her feet stuck to the sidewalk. Now that she's here, this whole thing seems like the worst possible idea. She knows she's always had a tendency to leap without looking, but she realizes now that this is not the kind of visit you make on a whim. This is not the end point to some spontaneous journey, but rather the site of something deeply sad, something irrevocably and horribly final. She glances down at her dress, the soft purple too cheerful for the occasion, and is already starting to turn away when she catches sight of Ichigo across the lawn and her mouth goes dry.

He's standing beside a small woman, his arm resting lightly around her shoulders assumes the woman must be his mother, He looks older in his suit, pale and solemn as he digs at the dirt with the toe of his shoe, his shoulders hunched and his head bent. Watching him, Rukia feels a surge of affection so strong that she nearly calls out.

But before she can do anything, he turns around. There's something different about him, something broken, an emptiness in his gaze that makes her certain this was a mistake. But his eyes hold her there, nailing her to the ground where she stands, torn between the instinct to run away and the urge to cross the space between them.

For a long time they just stay there like that as still as the statues in the garden. And when he gives her no sign—no gesture of welcome, no indication of need—Rukia swallows hard and comes to a decision.

But just as she turns to walk away she hears him behind her, the word like the opening of some door, like an ending and a beginning, like a wish.

"Wait," he says, and so she does.

 **A/N:**

 **Okay , because of so** **meone** **p** m m **e** , **I should** make **this clear..**

 **This story is not** m **ine, the real author is Jennifer E. S** m **ith but I've already said it in chapter one,**

 **JUst COPIED this fro** m **the book but I ad** m **it i've change so** m **e lines to fit in IchiRuki setting.**

 **and I'** m **posting it here because I want to share it! and well I just love IchiRuki so** m **uch and the characters are so like Ichigo and Rukia..and to inspire** m **yself to write an chiRuki story of** m **y own.**

 **To Guest2 review in chapter 5: I've just read it and thanks for saying that.. I appreciate it and really, I'** m **happy that you enjoy this story..! I love sharing what I've read, thanks** ms. **Jennifer S** mith **for writing such a beautiful story..:D**


	10. Chapter 10

"What're you doing here?" Ichigo says, staring at her as if he's not quite convinced she's actually there.

"I didn't realize," Rukia says quietly. "On the plane…"

He lowers his eyes.

"I didn't realize," she says again. "I'm so sorry."

He nods at the stone bench a few feet away, the rough surface still damp from the earlier rain. They walk over together, heads bowed, the mournful sound of an organ starting up inside the church. Just as she's about to sit, Ichigo motions for her to wait, then whips his jacket off and lays it on the bench.

"Your dress," he says by way of explanation, and Rukia glances down at herself, frowning at the purple silk as if she's never seen it before.

Something about the gesture cracks her heart open further, the idea that he'd think of something so trivial at a time like this; doesn't he know she couldn't care less about the stupid dress? That she'd gladly curl up on the grass for him, make a bed out of the dirt?

Unable to find the words to refuse him, she sits down, brushing her fingers along the soft folds of his jacket. Ichigo stands above her, rolling up first one sleeve and then the other, his eyes focused somewhere beyond the garden.

"Do you need to get back?" she asks, and he shrugs, leaving a few inches between them as he joins her on the bench.

"Probably," he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

But he doesn't move, and after a moment Rukia finds herself pitched forward as well, both of them studying the grass at their feet with unnatural intensity. She feels she probably owes him some sort of explanation for showing up here, but he doesn't ask for one, so they just remain there like that, the silence stretching between them.

Back home in Karakura, there's a bird bath just outside her kitchen window, which Rukia used to look out at while doing the dishes. The most frequent visitors were a pair of sparrows who used to fight for their turn, one hopping around the edge and chirping loudly as the other bathed, and then vice versa. Occasionally one would dart at the other, and both would flap their wings and lurch backward again, making ripples in the water. But although they generally spent the entire time squabbling, they always arrived together, and they always left together.

One morning she was surprised to see only one of the birds. It landed lightly on the stone lip of the bath and danced around the edge without touching the water, rotating its rounded head this way and that with a sense of bewilderment so pitiful that Rukia had leaned to the window and peered up at the sky, though she knew it would be empty.

There's something of that in Ichigo now, a reckless confusion that makes him seem more lost than sad. Rukia's never been this close to death before. The only three missing branches of her own family tree belong to grandparents who died before she was born, or when she was too little to mark their absence. Somehow, she'd always expected this sort of grief to resemble something from a movie, all streaming tears and choking sobs. But here in this garden, there's no shaking of fists at the sky; nobody has fallen to their knees, and nobody is cursing the heavens.

Instead, Ichigo looks like he might throw up. There's a grayish tinge to his face, a lack of color that's all the more startling against his dark suit, and he blinks at her without expression. His eyes have a wounded look, like he's been hurt somewhere but can't quite locate the source of the pain, and he pulls in a ragged breath.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he says eventually.

"No," Rukia says, shaking her head. "I'm sorry I just assumed…."

They fall quiet again.

After a moment, Ichigo sighs. "This is a little weird, right?"

"Which part?"

"I don't know," he says with a small smile. "You showing up at my father's funeral?"

"Oh," she says. "That."

He reaches down and yanks a few blades of grass from the ground, tearing at them absently.

"Really, though, it's the whole thing. I think maybe they had it right, turning it into a celebration. Because this kind of thing"—he jerks his chin in the direction of the church—"this kind of thing is completely mad."

Beside him, Rukia picks at the hem of her dress, unsure what to say.

"Not that there'd be much to celebrate anyway," he says bitterly, letting the pieces of grass flutter back to the ground. "He was a complete arse. No use pretending otherwise now."

Rukia looks up in surprise, but Ichigo seems relieved.

"I've been thinking that all morning," he says. "For the last eighteen years, really." He looks at her and smiles. "You're sort of dangerous, you know?"

She stares at him. "Me?"

"Yeah," he says, sitting back. "I'm way too honest with you."

"How did it happen?" She asks quietly, but Ichigo doesn't answer; he doesn't even look at her.

After a moment he clears his throat. "How was the wedding?"

"What?"

"The wedding. How did it go?"

She shrugs. "Fine."

"Come on," he says with a pleading look, and Rukia sighs.

"Turns out, She's nice," she offers, folding her hands in her lap. "Annoyingly nice."

Ichigo grins, looking more like the version of himself she met on the plane. "What about your dad?"

"He seems happy," she tells him, her voice thick. She remembers the book, and reaches for the bag beside her. "I didn't return it."

He glances over, his eyes coming to rest on the cover.

"I read a little on the way over," she says. "It's actually kind of good."

Ichigo reaches for it, thumbing the pages as he'd done on the plane. "How'd you find me, anyway?"

"Someone was talking about a funeral in Shinjuku," she says, and Ichigo flinches at the word funeral. "And I don't know. I just had a feeling."

He nods, gently shutting the book again. "My father had a first edition of this one," he says, his mouth twisting into a frown. "He kept it on a high shelf in his study, and I remember always staring up at it as a kid, knowing it was worth a lot"

He hands the book back to Rukia, who hugs it to her chest, waiting for him to continue.

"I always thought it was only worth something to him for the wrong reasons," he says, his voice softer now. "I never saw him reading anything but legal briefs. But every once in a while, completely out of the blue, he'd quote some passage." He laughs, a humorless sound. "It was so out of character. Like a singing butcher or something. A tap-dancing accountant."

"Maybe he wasn't what you thought…."

Ichigo looks at her sharply. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"I don't want to talk about him," he says, his eyes flashing. He rubs at his forehead, then rakes a hand through his hair. A breeze bends the grass at their feet, lifting the heavy air from their shoulders. From inside the church, the music from the organ endsabruptly, as if it's been interrupted.

"You say you can be honest with me?" Rukia asks after a moment, he twists to look at her. "Fine. Then talk to me. Be honest."

"About what?"

"Anything you want."

To her surprise, he kisses her then. Not like the kiss at the airport, which was soft and sweet and full of farewell. This kiss is something more urgent, something more desperate; he presses his lips hard against hers, and she closes her eyes and leans in, kissing him back until, just as suddenly, he breaks away again, and they sit there, staring at each other.

"That's not what I meant," Rukia says, pulling away and Ichigo gives her a crooked smile.

"You said to be honest. That was the most honest thing I've done all day."

"I meant about your dad," she says, though in spite of herself, she can feel the color rising to her cheeks. "Maybe it'll help to talk about it. If you just—"

"What? Say that I miss him? That this is the worst day of my life?" He stands abruptly and, for a brief and frightening moment, Rukia thinks he's going to walk away. But instead, he begins pacing back and forth in front of the bench, tall and lean and handsome in his shirtsleeves. He pauses, spinning to face her, and she can see the anger scrawled across his face.

"Look, today? This week? Everything about it has been fake. You think your dad is so awful for what he did? At least your dad was honest. Your dad had the guts not to stick around. And I know that feeling, too, but from what it sounds like, he's happy and your mom's happy, and so you're all better off in the end anyway."

All except me, she thinks, but she remains quiet . Ichigo begins to walk again, and her eyes follow his back and forth and back and forth.

"But my dad? He cheated on my mom for years. Your dad had one affair, and that turned into love, right? It turned into marriage. It was out in the open, and it set you all free. Mine had about a dozen affairs, maybe more, and the worst part is, we all knew. And nobody talked about it. Somewhere along the line, someone made the decision that we'd all just be quietly miserable, and so that's what we did. But we knew," he says, his shoulders sagging. "We knew."

"Ichigo," she stands and walks towards him, but he shakes his head.

"So no," he says with a little shrug. "I don't want to talk about my dad. He was a jerk, not just because of the affairs, but in a million other ways, too. And I've spent my whole life pretending it's fine, for my mother's sake. But now he's gone, and I'm done pretending." His hands are balled into fists at his sides, and his mouth is pressed into a thin line.

Above them the sky has gone flat and gray again and droplets of rain starts to fall.

"Is that honest enough for you?"

''Ichigo," she says again,

"It's fine," he says. "I'm fine."

From a distance comes the sound of his name being called, and a moment later a girl with long orange hair appears at the gate. She can't be much older than Rukia, but there's a confidence to her, a sense of ease that makes Rukia feel immediately disheveled by comparison.

The girl stops short when sees them, clearly surprised.

"It's almost time, Kurosaki-kun," she says. "The procession's about ready to leave."

Ichigo's eyes are still on Rukia. "One minute," he says without looking away, and the girl hesitates, like she might be about to say something more, but then turns around again with a small shrug.

When she's gone, Rukia forces herself to meet Ichigo's eyes again. Something about the girl's arrival has broken the spell of the garden, and now she's aware of the voices beyond the hedge, of the car doors slamming, of a dog barking in the distance.

Still, he doesn't move.

"I'm sorry," Rukia says softly. "I shouldn't have come."

"No," Ichigo says, and she blinks at him, straining to hear the words inside that word, beneath it or around it: Don't go or Please stay or I'm sorry, too.

But all he says is: "It's okay."

She shifts from one foot to the other, her heels sinking into the soft dirt. "I should go," she says, but her eyes say I'm trying, and her hands, trembling in an effort not to reach out, say Please.

"Right," he says. "Me, too."

Neither of them moves, and Rukia realizes she's holding her breath.

 _''Ask me to stay.''_

"Good to see you again," he says stiffly, and to her dismay, he holds out a hand. She takes it, and they hover there like that, halfway between a grip and a shake, their knotted palms swaying between them until Ichigo finally lets go.

"Good luck," she says, though with what, she's not entirely sure.

"Thanks," he says with a nod. He reaches for his jacket and slings it over his shoulder without bothering to brush it off. As he turns to cross the garden, Rukia's stomach churns. She closes her eyes against the flood of words that never reached her, all those things left unsaid.

And when she opens them again, he's gone.

Her purse is still on the bench, and as she moves to pick it up again she finds herself sinking down onto the damp stone. She shouldn't have come. That much is clear to her now.

She reaches beside her for the copy of Our Mutual Friend and leafs through it absently. When it opens to one of the dog-eared pages, she notices that the corner of the fold reaches halfway down the page like an arrow, its point landing at the top of a line of dialogue: "No one is useless in this world," it reads, "who lightens the burden of it for any one else."

A few minutes later, when she makes her way back past the church, she can see the family still huddled in the open doorway. Ichigo's back is to her, his jacket still resting on his shoulder, and the girl, the one who discovered them, stands just beside him. There's something protective about the way her hand rests on his elbow, and the sight of it makes Rukia walk a bit faster, her cheeks reddening without her quite understanding why. She hurries snd past them.

At the last moment, almost as an afterthought, she places the book on the hood of the car in front. And then, before anyone can stop her, she takes off down the road again.

-x-

Rukia realizes she left the wedding invitation inside the book, and though she knows the hotel is near the church and therefore somewhere in the neighborhood, she can't for the life of her remember the name. But when she flips open her phone to call her dad, she notices there's a message, and even before punching in her password she knows it must be from Mom. She doesn't even bother listening, dialing her back right away instead, not wanting to risk missing her yet again.

But she does.

Once more it goes to voice mail, and she sighs. All she wants is to talk to Mom, to tell her about Dad, about Ichigo and his father, about how this whole trip has been one big mistake.

All she wants is to pretend the last couple of hours never happened. There's a lump in her throat as big as a fist when she thinks of the way Ichigo left her there in the garden, the way those eyes of his—which had studied her so intently on the plane—had been focused on the ground instead.

And that girl. She's absolutely certain it was his ex-girlfriend—the casual way she'd sought him out, the comforting hand on his arm. The only thing she's not certain about is the ex part. There was something so possessive about the way she looked at him, like she was laying claim to him even from a distance.

Rukia slumps against the side of a telephone booth, cringing at how silly she must have seemed, seeking him out in the garden like that. She tries not to imagine what they must be saying about her now, but the possibilities seep into her thoughts anyway: Ichigo shrugging in answer to the girl's question, identifying Rukia as some girl he met on the plane.

All morning she'd been carrying with her the memory of the previous night, the thought of Ichigo acting as a shield against the day, but now it's all been ruined. Even the memory of that last kiss isn't enough to comfort her. Because she'll probably never see him again, and the way they parted is enough to make her want to curl up in a little ball right here on the street corner.

The phone begins to ring in her hand, and she looks down to see Dad's number on the screen.

"Where are you?" he asks when she picks up, and she looks left and then right down the street.

"I'm almost there," she says, not entirely sure where exactly there is.

"Where you have been?" he asks, and the way he says it, his voice tight, Rukia can tell he's furious. For the millionth time today she wishes she could just go home, but she still has the reception to get through, and a dance with her angry father, everyone staring at them; she still has to wish the couple well and suffer through the cake and then spend seven hours traveling back beside someone who will not draw her a Rabbit on a napkin, who will not try to tease her, who will not try to kiss her by the bathrooms.

"I had to go see a friend," she explains, and He sighs.

"Your timing could have been better, Rukia."

"I know."

"I was worried," he admits, and she can hear the harshness in his voice beginning to subside.

Somehow, she'd been so focused on getting to Ichigo that it hadn't really occurred to her that Dad might be concerned. Angry, yes; but worried? It's been so long since he played the role of anxious parent, and besides, he's in the middle of his own wedding. But now she can see how her leaving might have frightened him, and she finds herself softening, too.

"I wasn't thinking," she says. "I'm sorry."

"How long till you get here?"

"Not long," she says. "Not long at all."

He sighs again. "Good."

"But Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you remind me where I'm going?"

Ten minutes later, with the help of his directions, Rukia finds herself in the lobby of the Hotel. When she catches sight of herself in one of the mirrors hanging behind the front desk, Rukia quickly lowers her eyes again. Her fellow bridesmaids will be disappointed when they see that their hard work from earlier has been ruined; her dress is so wrinkled it looks like she's been carrying it around in her purse all day, and her hair—which had been so perfectly styled—is now coming undone, stray wisps falling across her face, the bun in the back sagging badly.

The man behind the desk finishes a phone call, replacing the receiver with a practiced flick of his wrist, and then turns to Rukia.

"May I help you, Miss?"

"I'm looking for the Kuchiki wedding," she says, and he glances down at the desk.

"I'm afraid that hasn't yet begun," he tells her "It will be held in the Ballroom at six o'clock sharp."

"Right," Rukia says. "But I'm actually just looking for the groom now."

"Ah, certainly," he says, ringing up to the room and murmuring into the phone before setting it down again and giving Rukia a nod. "Suite two fortyeight. They're expecting you."

"I bet they are," she says, heading toward the elevators.

When she knocks on the door to the suite, she's so busy preparing herself for Dad's disapproving frown that she's a bit surprised to find Rangiku on the other side instead. Not that there's a lack of disapproval there, either.

"What happened to you?" she asks, her eyes traveling all the way down to Hadley's shoes before snapping back up again. "Did you run a marathon or something?"

"It's hot out," Rukia explains, glancing down aher dress helplessly. Rangiku takes a sip of champagne from a glass wreathed in lipstick marks, surveying the damage from over the rim.

"I suppose we'll probably need to sort you out again before the reception," Rangiku says with a sigh, and Rukia nods gratefully as her phone—which she's still clutching in one sweaty hand—begins to ring. When she glances at the name lit up on the screen, she realizes it's Dad, probably wondering what's taking her so long.

Rangiku steps aside like the bouncer at some exclusive club, ushering Rukia inside. "We don't have much time before the reception," she's saying, and Rukia can't help grinning as she closes the door behind her.

"What time does that start again?"

Rangiku rolls her eyes, not even bothering to dignify this with a response, and then retreats back into the room, arranging herself carefully on one of the chairs in her wrinkle-free dress.

-x-

Rukia heads straight for the small sitting room off to one side, which links the bedroom to the rest of the suite. Inside, she finds her dad and a few other people crowded around a laptop computer. His new wife is seated before it, her wedding dress pooled all around her and though Rukia can't see the screen from where she's standing, it's clear that his is a show-and-tell of sorts.

For a moment she considers ducking back out again. She doesn't want to see photos of them , or making funny faces on a train or whatever they've been doing.

She doesn't need pictures to know that she's not part of his life anymore.

But he's the first to notice her standing there, her dad, and though Rukia is ready for any number of reactions—anger that she left, annoyance that she's late, relief that she's okay—what she isn't prepared for is this: something behind his eyes laid bare at the sight of her, a look like recognition, like an apology.

And right then, right there, she wishes for things to be different. Not in the way she's been wishing for months now, not a bitter, twisted sort of wish, but the kind of wish you make with your whole heart. Rukia didn't know it was possible to miss someone who's only a few feet away, but there it is: She misses him so much it nearly flattens her. Because all of a sudden it all seems so horribly senseless, how much time she's spent trying to push him out of her life. Seeing him now, she can't help but think of Ichigo's father, about how there are so many worse ways to lose somebody, things far more permanent, things that can cut so much deeper.

A glass breaks in the adjacent room and Rukia flinches. Everyone in the sitting area is looking at her now, and the floral-patterned walls seem much too close.

This time, when she glances in Dad's direction, something in the look on her face is enough to make him stand.

"You okay,?" he asks, his head tilted to one side.

All she means to do is shake her head; at most, maybe shrug. But to her surprise, a sob rises in her throat, breaking over her like a wave. She can feel her face begin to crumple and the first tears prick the backs of her eyes.

It's not about his new wife or the others in the room; for once, it's not even her dad. It's the day behind her, the whole strange and surprising day. Never has any period of time seemed so unending. And though she knows it's nothing but a collection of minutes, all of them strung together like popcorn on a tree, she can see now how easily they become hours, how quickly the months might have turned to years in just the same way, how close she'd come to losing something so important to the unrelenting movement of time.

"Rukia?" Dad says, setting his glass down as he takes a step in her direction. "What happened?"

She's crying in earnest now, propped up by the doorframe, and when she feels the first tear fall, she thinks—ridiculously—of Rangiku, and how it's one more thing they'll have to worry about when trying to fix her again.

"Hey," Dad says when he's by her side, a strong hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry," she says. "It's just been a really long day."

"Right," he says, and she can almost see the idea occurring to him, the light going on behind his eyes. "Right," he says again. " maybe we should watch Chappy the Rabbit again."

Rukia smiles. "yeah we should,"

 **A/N:**

 **Okay, Its not Isshin.. I'** m **absolutely sure! heh..**

 **and two** m **ore chaps, left..:D**


	11. Chapter 11

Even if Dad still lived at their house in Karakura, even if Rukia still sat across from him in her pajamas each morning during breakfast and called good night to him across the hall before bed, even then this would still fall under Mom's job description. Absentee father or not, sitting with her as she cries over a boy is absolutely and unequivocally Mom Territory.

Yet here she is with Dad, the best and only option at the moment, the whole story pouring out of her like some long-held secret. He's pulled a chair up beside the bed and is straddling it backward, with his arms resting on the seat back, and Rukia is grateful to see that for once he's not wearing that professorial look of his, the one where he tips his head to the side and his eyes go sort of flat and he arranges his features into something resembling polite interest.

Hugging one of the many decorative pillows from the fancy bed, Rukia tells him about meeting Ichigo at the airport and the way he switched seats on the flight. She tells him how Ichigo helped her with her claustrophobia, distracting her with silly questions, saving her from herself in the same way Dad once had.

"Remember how you told me to imagine the sky?" she asks him, and Dad nods.

"Does it still help?"

"Yeah," Rukia tells him. "It's the only thing that ever does."

He ducks his head, but not before she can see his mouth move, the beginning of a smile.

There's a whole wedding party just outside the door, a new bride and bottles of champagne, and there's a schedule to keep, an order to the day. But as he sits here listening, it's as if he has nowhere else to be. It's as if nothing could possibly be more important than this. Than her. And so Rukia keeps talking.

She tells him about her conversation with Ichigo, about the long hours when there was nothing to do but talk. She tells him about Ichigo's ridiculous research projects and about the movie and how she'd stupidly assumed he was going to a wedding, too.

She doesn't tell him about the kiss at customs.

By the time she gets to the part about losing him at the airport, she's talking so fast she's tripping over the words, and she can't seem to stop. When she tells him about the funeral, how her worst suspicions had all turned out to be true, he reaches out and places a hand on top of hers.

"I should have told you," she says, then wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "Actually, I shouldn't have gone at all."

Dad doesn't say anything, and Rukia is grateful.

She's not sure how to put the next part into words, the look in Ichigo's eyes, so dark and solemn, like the gathering of a distant storm. Just beyond the door there's a burst of laughter, followed by scattered clapping. She takes a deep breath.

"I was trying to help," she says quietly. But she knows this isn't entirely true. "I wanted to see him again."

"That's sweet," Dad says, and she shakes her head.

"It's not. I mean, I only knew him for a few hours. It's ridiculous. It makes no sense."

Dad smiles, then reaches up to straighten his crooked bow tie. "That's the way these things work, kiddo," he says. "Love isn't supposed to make sense. It's completely illogical."

Rukia lifts her chin.

"What?"

"Nothing," she says. "It's just that Mom said the exact same thing."

"About Ichigo?"

"No, just in general."

"She's a smart lady, your mom," he says, and the way he says it makes Rukia say the one thing she's spent more than a year trying not to say aloud.

"Then why did you leave her?"

Dad's mouth falls open, and he leans back as if the words were something physical. "Rukia," he begins, his voice low, but she jerks her head back and forth.

"Never mind," she says. "Forget it."

In one motion he's on his feet, and she thinks maybe he's going to leave the room. But instead, he sits beside her on the bed. She rearranges herself so that they're side by side, so that they don't have to look at each other.

"I still love your mom," he says quietly, and Rukia is about to interrupt him, but he pushes ahead before she has a chance. "It's different now, obviously. And there's a lot of guilt in there, too. But she still means a lot to me. You have to know that."

"Then how could you—"

"Leave?"

Rukia nods.

"I had to," he says simply. "But it didn't mean I was leaving you."

"You moved here."

"I know ." he says with a sigh. "But it wasn't about you."

"Right,"she says, feeling a familiar spark of anger inside of her. "It was about you."

She wants him to argue, to fight back, to play the part of the selfish guy having a midlife crisis, the one she's built up in her head for all these days and weeks and months. But instead, he just sits there with his head hanging low, his hands clasped in his lap, looking utterly defeated.

"I fell in love," he says helplessly. His bow tie has fallen to one side again, and Rukia is reminded that it is, after all, his wedding day. He rubs his jaw absently, his eyes on the door. "I don't expect you to understand. I know I screwed up. I know I'm the world's worst father. I know, I know, I know. Trust me, I know."

Rukia remains silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I don't expect you to forgive me. I know we can't go back. But I'd like to start over, if you're willing." He nods toward the other room. "I know everything's different, and that it will take some time, but I'd really like you to be part of my new life, too."

Rukia glances down at her dress. The exhaustion she's been fighting for hours has started to creep in like the tide, like someone's pulling a blanket up over her.

"I liked our old life just fine," she says with a frown.

"I know. But I need you now, too."

"So does Mom."

"I know."

"I just wish…"

"What?"

"That you'd stayed."

"I know," he says for the millionth time. She waits for him to argue that they're better off this way, which is what Mom always says during conversations like these.

But he doesn't.

Rukia blows a strand of loose hair from her face. What had Ichigo said earlier? That her dad had the guts not to stick around. She wonders now if that could possibly be true. It's hard to imagine what their life would be like if he'd only just come home like he was supposed to that Christmas. Would things have been better that way? Or would they have been like Ichigo's family, the weight of their unhappiness heavy as a blanket over each of them, stifling and oppressive and so very silent?

"Dad?" she says, and her voice is very small. "I'm glad you're happy."

He's unable to hide his surprise. "You are?"

"Of course."

They're quiet for a moment, and then he looks at her again. "Know what would make me even happier?"

She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"If you'd come visit us sometime."

"Us?"

He grins. "Yeah."

There's a knock on the door, and they both look over.

"Come in," Dad says, and Rangiku appears. Rukia's amused to see that she's swaying ever so slightly in her heels, an empty glass of champagne in one hand.

"Thirty-minute warning," she announces, waving her watch in their direction.

Dad glances over at Rukia, then gives her shoulder a little pat as he stands up. "I think we're all sorted in here anyway," he says, and as she rises to follow him out, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, puffy eyes and all.

"I think I might need a little—"

"Agreed," Rangiku says, taking her by the arm. She motions to the other women, who set down their glasses and scurry over to the bathroom as one.

It takes only twenty minutes for them to perform their second miracle of the day, and when they're finished Rukia feels like a different person entirely from the one who limped back from the funeral an hour ago. The rest of the bridesmaids stay behind in the bathroom, turning their attention back to their own ensembles, and when Rukia emerges on her own she's surprised to find only Dad in the suite.

"You look great," " he says, and she smiles.

-x-

Later, toward the end of the cocktail hour, the doors to the ballroom are thrown open, and Rukia pauses just inside, her eyes wide. Everything is silver and white, with lavender flowers arranged in oversized glass vases on the tables. There are ribbons on the backs of the chairs, and a four-tiered cake topped with a tiny bride and groom. The crystals on the chandeliers seem to catch the light from the silverware, from the gleaming plates and the tiny glowing candles and the brassy instruments of the band, which will sit propped in their stands until later, when it's time for the dancing to begin. Even the photographer, who has walked in just ahead of Rukia, lowers her camera to look around with an air of approval.

Dad and and his wife are still upstairs, waiting to make their grand entrance, and Rukia has spent the entire cocktail hour answering questions and making small talk.

An older man asks about her flight over.

"I missed it, actually," she tells him. "By four minutes. But I caught the next one."

"What bad luck,"

Rukia smiles. "It wasn't so bad."

When it's almost time to sit down for dinner, she searches the name cards to find out where she's been placed.

Inside the ballroom, the guests have started to take their seats, tucking purses under chairs and admiring the floral arrangements. The band is keying up, the occasional stray note escaping from keying up, the occasional stray note escaping from the trumpet, and the waiters are circulating with bottles of wine. When the motion of the room has slowed, the band leader adjusts the mike and clears his throat.

"Ladies and gentleman," he says, and already the rest of the people at her table are turning toward the entrance to the room. "I'm pleased to be the first to present Mr. and Mrs. Kuchiki!"

A great cheer goes up and there are a series of bright flashes as everyone attempts to capture the moment on camera. Rukia swivels in her seat and rests her chin on the back of the chair as Dad and his wife appear in the doorway, their hands clasped together, both of them smiling like movie stars, like royalty, like the little couple on top of the cake.

Later, after the cake has been cut and Dad has managed to duck his wife's attempts to get even for the white frosting he smeared on her nose, there's more dancing. By the time coffee is served they're all slumped at the table together, their cheeks flushed and their feet sore.

Across the table, rangiku raises her glass and then taps it gently with her spoon, and amid the more frantic clinking that follows, Dad leans in for yet another kiss, separating only after realizing there's a waiter hovering just behind them, waiting to take their plates.

Once her own place setting is cleared, Rukia

pushes back her chair and leans forward to pick up

her purse. "I think I might go get some fresh air." Rukia announces.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asks,

"I'm fine," Rukia says quickly. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Dad leans back in his chair with a knowing smile. "Say hello to your mom for me."

"What?"

He nods at her purse. "Tell her I said hi."

Rukia grins sheepishly, surprised to have been figured out so easily.

"Yup, I've still got it," he says. "The parental sixth sense."

"You're not as smart as you think you are," Rukia teases him.

As she walks away, Rukia can already hear Dad beginning to regale his tablemates with stories of her childhood, all the many times he came to the rescue, all the instances when he was a step ahead. She turns around once, and when he sees her he pauses—his hands raised in midair, as if demonstrating the size of a fish or the length of a field, or some other token fable from the past—and gives her a wink.

She makes her way through the revolving doors and takes a deep breath once she steps outside, welcoming the cool air and the insistent breeze.

Rukia moves off to the side and finds a place to sit down. The moment she does, she realizes her head is pounding and her feet are throbbing. Everything about her feels heavy, and once again she tries to remember the last time she slept. When she squints at her watch, attempting to calculate what time it is back home and how long she's been awake, the numbers blur in her head and refuse to cooperate.

There's another message from Mom on her phone, and Rukia's heart leaps at the sight of it. It feels like they've been apart for much longer than a day, and though she has no idea what time it is at home, Rukia dials and closes her eyes as she listens to the hollow sound of the ringing.

"There you are," Mom says when she picks up. "That was some game of phone tag."

"Mom," Rukia mumbles, resting her forehead in her hand. "Seriously."

"I've been dying to talk to you," Mom says. "How are you? How's it all going?"

Rukia takes a deep breath, then wipes her nose. "Mom, I'm really sorry about what I said to you earlier. Before I left."

"It's okay," she says after a half beat of silence. "I know you didn't mean it."

"I didn't."

"And listen, I've been thinking…."

"Yeah?"

"I shouldn't have made you go. You're old enough to make these kinds of decisions on your own now. It was wrong of me to insist."

"No, I'm glad you did. It's been surprisingly… okay."

Mom lets out a low whistle. "Really? I would've bet money that you'd be calling me demanding to come home on an earlier flight."

"Me, too," Rukia says. "But it's not so bad."

"Tell me everything."

"I will," she says, stifling a yawn. "But it's been a really long day."

"Have you and your dad been getting along?"

"It was touch-and go earlier, but now we're fine. Maybe even good."

"Why, what happened earlier?"

"It's another long story. I sort of ducked out for a while."

"You left?"

"I had to."

"I bet your father loved that. Where'd you go?"

Rukia closes her eyes. "I met this guy on the plane."

Mom laughs. "Now we're talking."

"I went to go find him, but it was sort of a disaster, and now I'll never see him again."

There's silence on the other end, and then

Mom's voice comes back a bit softer. "You never know," she says.

"This is a little bit different."

"Well, I can't wait to hear all about it when you get back."

"Which is tomorrow."

"Right," she says. "I will meet you at the baggage claim."

"Like a lost sock."

"Oh, honey," Mom jokes. "You're more like a whole suitcase. And you're not lost."

Rukia's voice is very small. "What if I am?"

"Then it's just a matter of time before you get found."

The phone beeps twice, and she holds it away from her ear for a moment. "I'm about to run out of batteries," she says when she brings it back.

"You or your phone?"

"Both. So what are you doing without me tonight?"

"Well, someone special wants to take me to some silly baseball game."

Rukia sits up straighter. "Mom, he's gonna ask you to marry him."

"What? No."

"Yeah, he totally is. I bet he'll even put it up on the scoreboard or something."

Mom groans. "No way. He'd never do that."

"Yeah, he would," Rukia says, laughing. "That's exactly the sort of thing he'd do."

They're both giggling now, neither of them able to complete a sentence between fits of laughter, and Rukia gives herself over to it, blinking back tears. It feels wonderful, this letting go; after a day like this, she's grateful for any excuse to laugh.

"Is there anything cheesier?" Mom asks finally, catching her breath.

"Definitely not," Rukia says, then pauses. "But Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you should say yes."

"What?" Mom says, her voice a few octaves too high. "What happened? You go to one wedding and all of a sudden you're Cupid?"

"He loves you," Rukia says simply. "And you love him."

"It's a little bit more complicated than that."

"It's not, actually. All you have to do is say yes."

"And then live happily ever after?"

Rukia smiles. "Something like that."

The phone beeps again, this time more urgently.

"We're almost out of time," she says, and Mom laughs again, but this time, there's something weary about it.

"Is that a hint?"

"If it will help convince you to do the right thing."

"When did you get so grown-up?"

Rukia shrugs. "You and Dad must have done a good job."

"I love you," Mom says quietly.

"I love you, too," Rukia says, and then, almost as if they'd planned it, the line goes dead. She sits there like that for another minute or so, and then lowers the phone and stares out at the row of stone houses across the road.

As she watches, a light goes on in one of the upstairs windows, and she can see a man tucking his son into bed, pulling up the covers and then leaning to kiss him on the forehead. Just before leaving the room, the man moves his hand to the wall to flick the light switch, and the room goes dark again. Rukia thinks of Ichigo's story and wonders if this boy might need a night-light, too, or whether the good -night kiss from his father is enough to send him off into sleep, a sleep without bad dreams or nightmares, without monsters or ghosts.

She's still watching the darkened window, gazing at the little house in a row of many, past the glowing streetlamps and the rain-dusted mailboxes, past the horseshoe of a driveway leading up to the hotel, when her own sort of ghost appears.

She's as surprised to see him as he must have been when she showed up at the church earlier, and something about his sudden and unexpected arrival throws her off-balance, sets her stomach churning, takes what little composure she has left and shatters it completely. He approaches slowly, his dark suit nearly lost to the surrounding shadows until he steps into the pool of light cast by the hotel lanterns.

"Hi," he says when he's close enough, and for the second time this evening, Rukia begins to cry

 **A/N:**

 **To Guest:**

 **First, Its just a fanfiction dear, and besides I have the right to do whatever I want and Love ANY ani** m **e couple I want too.. but I'** m **not taking it too seriously because like you said Kubo Sensei** might **put up IchiHi** me **instead and** _ **dont want to be**_ m **iserable if that happens..**

 **and I** _ **dont get it**_ **why should I be asha** med **of** m **yself?**

 **To Keira14: I kinda** m **issed you, what's happening to you now?**


	12. Chapter 12

A man walks up with his hat in his hands. A woman walks up in a pair of outrageously tall boots. A young boy walks up with a handheld video game. A mother with a crying baby. A man with a mustache like a broom. An elderly couple with matching sweaters. A boy in a blue shirt with not a single crumb from a doughnut.

There are so many ways it could all have turned out differently.

Imagine if it had been someone else, Rukia is thinking, her heart rattling at the idea of it.

But here they are:

A boy walks up with a book in his hands.

A boy walks up with a crooked tie.

A boy walks up and sits down beside her.

There's a star in the sky that refuses to stay put, and Rukia realizes it's actually a plane, that just last night, that star was them.

Neither of them speaks at first. Ichigo sits a few inches away, looking straight ahead as he waits for her to finish crying, and for that alone Rukia is grateful, because it feels like a kind of understanding.

"I think you forgot something," he says eventually, tapping the book in his lap. When she doesn't respond, only wipes her eyes and sniffles, he finally turns to look at her. "Are you okay?"

"I can't believe how many times I've cried today."

"Me, too," he says, and she feels immediately awful, because of course he has more right to cry than anyone.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly.

"Well, it's not like we had no warning," he says with a little smile. "Everyone's always telling you to bring a handkerchief to weddings and funerals."

In spite of herself, Rukia laughs. "I'm pretty sure nobody has ever suggested a handkerchief to me in my life," she says.

They fall silent again, but it's not strained as it was earlier, at the church. A few cars drive up to the hotel entrance, the tires grumbling, the lights sweeping over them so that they're forced to squint.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and he nods.

"I will be."

"Did it go all right?"

"I suppose so," he says. "For a funeral."

"Right," Rukia says, closing her eyes. "Sorry."

He turns toward her, just slightly, his knee brushing up against hers. "I'm sorry, too. All that stuff I said about my father…"

"You were upset."

"I was angry."

"You were sad."

"I was sad," he agrees. "I still am."

"He was your dad."

Ichigo nods again. "Part of me wishes I could've been more like you. That I'd had the nerve to tell him what I thought before it was too late. Maybe then things would have been different. All those years of not talking…" He trails off, shaking his head. "It just seems like such a waste."

"It's not your fault," Rukia says, glancing over at him. It occurs to her that she doesn't even know how he's dad died, though it must have been sudden. "Maybe you both just needed more time to come around."

"It's still there, you know," Ichigo says after a moment. "The night-light. They turned my room into a guestroom after I left for school, and most of my things are up in the attic. But I noticed it there this morning when I dropped off my bags. I bet it doesn't even work anymore."

"I bet it does," she says, and Ichigo smiles.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"This," he says. " Everytime I'm with you, I can breathe."

She smiles. "Me, too."

"I just needed…" he trails off again, glancing over at her. "Is it okay that I'm here?"

"Of course," she says, a bit too quickly. "Especially after I…"

"After you what?"

"Barged into the funeral earlier," she says, wincing a little at the memory. "Not that you didn't already have company."

He frowns at his shoes for a moment before it seems to click. "Oh," he says. "That was just my exgirlfriend. She knew my dad. And she was worried about me. But she was only there as a family friend. Really."

Rukia feels a quick rush of relief. She hadn't realized just how powerfully she'd wished for this to be true until now.

Ichigo grins. "Wait, were you jealous?"

"N-no of course not!" she says looking away, hiding the pink tinge color on her cheeks. "I'm glad she could be there," she tells him truthfully. "I'm glad you had someone."

"Yes, though she didn't leave me with any reading material," he says, thumping a hand against the book.

"Yeah, but she also probably didn't force you to talk to her."

"Or tease me about my research."

"Or show up without an invitation."

"That'd be both of us," he reminds her, glancing over his shoulder at the entrance to the hotel. "Why aren't you inside, anyway?"

Rukia shrugs.

"Claustrophobic?"

"No, actually," she says. "It hasn't been too bad."

"You've been imagining the sky, then?"

She looks at him sideways. "I've been thinking about it all day."

"Me, too," Ichigo says, tipping his head back.

Somehow, almost without even realizing it, they've moved closer together on the steps, so that although they're not quite leaning against each other, it would be difficult to fit anything between them.

There's a scent of rain in the air, and the men smoking cigarettes nearby stub them out and head back inside.

A fly lands on Rukia's knee, but she doesn't move to swat it away. Instead, they both watch it dart around for a moment before it takes off again, so fast they almost miss it.

"I wonder if he got to see the Tower of Tokyo," Ichigo says.

Rukia gives him a blank look.

"Our friend from the flight," he says with a grin. "The stowaway."

"Ah, right. I'm sure he did. He's probably off to check out the nightlife now."

"After a busy day in Tokyo."

"After a long day in Tokyo."

"The longest," Ichigo agrees. "I don't know about you, but the last time I slept was during that stupid rabbit movie."

Rukia laughs. "That's not true. You passed out again later. On my shoulder."

"No way," he says. "Never happened."

"Trust me, it did," she says, bumping her knee against his. "I remember it all."

He smiles. "Then I suppose you also remember me helping you at the airport ? he says. "You're lucky I came to your rescue."

"Right," Hadley says, laughing. "My knight in shining armor."

"At your service."

"Can you believe that was only yesterday?"

Another plane crosses the patch of sky above them, and Rukia leans into Ichigo as they watch, their eyes trained on the bright dots of light. After a moment, he nudges her forward gently so that he can stand up, then offers her a hand.

"Let's dance."

"Here?"

"I was thinking inside, actually." He glances around then nods. "But why not?"

Rukia rises to her feet and smoothes her dress, and then Ichigo positions his hands like a professional ballroom dancer, one on her back and the other in the air. His form is perfect, his face serious, and she steps into his waiting arms with a sheepish grin.

"I have no idea how to dance like this."

"I'll show you," he says, but they still haven't moved an inch. Th ey're just standing there, poised and ready, as if waiting for the music to begin, both of them unable to stop smiling. His hand on her back is like something electric, and being here like this, so suddenly close to him, is enough to make her lightheaded. It's a feeling like falling, like forgetting the words to a song.

"I can't believe you're here," she says, her voice soft. "I can't believe you found me."

"You found me first," he says, and when he leans to kiss her, it's slow and sweet and she knows that this will be the one she always remembers. Because while the other two kisses felt like endings, this one is unquestionably a beginning.

The rain begins to fall as they stand there, a sideways drizzle that settles over them lightly. When she lifts her chin again, Rukia sees a drop land on Ichigo's forehead and then slip down to the end of his nose, and without thinking, she moves her hand from his shoulder to wipe it away.

He smiles and leans in, locking their foreheads. "Thank you for stopping the rain Rukia."

She smiles knowing what he meant. "We should go in," she says, and he nods, taking her hand. They walk inside together, her dress already dotted with specks of rain, the shoulders of his suit a shade darker than before, but they're both smiling like it's some sort of problem they can't shake, like a case of the hiccups.

At the door to the ballroom Rukia pauses, tugging on his hand. "Are you sure you're up for a wedding right now?"

Ichigo looks down at her carefully. "That whole plane ride, you didn't realize my father just died. You know why?"

Rukia isn't sure what to say.

"Because I was with you," he tells her. "I feel better when I'm with you."

"I'm glad," she says, and then she surprises herself by rising onto her tiptoes and kissing his rough cheek.

They can hear the music on the other side of the door, and Rukia takes a deep breath before pushing it open. Most of the tables are empty now, and everyone is out on the dance floor, swaying in time to an old love song. Ichigo once again offers his hand, and he leads her through the maze of tables, weaving past plates of half-eaten cake and sticky champagne glasses and empty coffee cups until they reach the middle of the room.

Rukia glances around, no longer embarrassed to have so many pairs of eyes on her. On the other side of the room, Dad and his wife have slowed almost to a stop, both of them staring.

But when he catches her eye, Dad smiles knowingly, and Rukia can't help beaming back. This time, when Ichigo offers his hand to dance, he pulls her close.

""What happened to those formal techniques of yours?" she says into his shoulder.

She can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm doing my summer research project on different styles of dancing."

"So does that mean we'll be doing the tango next?"

"Only if you're up for it."

"What are you really studying?"

He leans back to look at her. "The statistical probability of love at first sight."

"Very funny," she says. "What is it really?"

"I'm serious."

"I don't believe you."

He laughs, then lower his mouth so that it's close to her ear. "People who meet in airports are seventy-two percent more likely to fall for each other than people who meet anywhere else."

"You're ridiculous," she says, resting her head on his shoulder. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Yes," he says, laughing. "You, actually. About a thousand times today."

"Well, today's almost over," Rukia says, glancing at the gold-trimmed clock on the other side of the room. "Only four more minutes. It's eleven fifty six."

"That means we met twenty-four hours ago."

"Seems like it's been longer."

Ichigo smiles. "Did you know that people who meet at least three different times within a twentyfour hour period are ninety-eight percent more likely to meet again?"

This time she doesn't bother correcting him. Just this once, she'd like to believe that he's right.

 **THE END.**

 **A/N:**

 **Yes! I'** m **done! ha! now ti** me **to update** my **own story..!**

 **and if you love this story as** m **uch as I did! and if you still dont know about it yet, there is a** m **ovie version, the casting is done Hailey Steinfield will be Hadley and Robert Sheehan will be Oliver..:D**


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